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ROMANCE 


OTHER    BOOKS 
BY    JOSEPH    CONRAD 

Lord  Jim,   Youth,  Talk,   Typhoon 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

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Full  of  men  who  writhed  and  tumbled  over  each  other 


ROMANCE 

A         NOVEL      i^'R/^OO- 
B   Y  R5-f 

JOSEPH       CONRAD 
AND 


F.      M.      HUEFFER 


ILLUSTRATED     BY 


CHARLES     R.     MACAULEY 


New    York    :    McClure^  Phillips  &   Co.    :    Mcmiv 


Copyright,  1904,  by 
McCLURE,   PHILLIPS  ^  CO. 

Published,   March,    1904 


^0 

ELSIE    AND    JESSIE 

ROMANCE 

C^ est  toi  qui  dors  dans  P  ombre,  6  sacre  Souvenir. 

If  we  could  have  remembrance  now 

And  see,  as  in  the  days  to  come 

We  shall,  what's  venturous  in  these  hours  : 

The  swift,  intangible  romance  of  fields  at  home, 

The  gleams  of  sun,  the  showers,. 

Our  workaday  contentments,  or  our  powers 

To  fare  still  forward  through  the  uncharted  haze 

Of  present  days. 

For,  looking  back  when  years  shall  flow 
Upon  this  olden  day  that's  now. 
We'll  see,  romantic  in  dimn'd  hours. 
These  memories  of  ours. 


'^'s\^  806470 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PART  FIRST 
The  Quarry  and  the  Beach,      .....         3 

PART  SECOND 

The  Girl  with  the  Lizard^  .        .        .        .        .        .45 

PART  THIRD 
Casa  Riego^    .        ,        .        , Ill 

PART  FOURTH 

Blade  and  Guitar,         ,,.....     195 

PART  FIFTH 
The  Lot  of  Man, 365 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

Full     of     men     who     writhed     and     tumbled     over     each 

other Fro7itispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

"  Take  a   fool's  advice,  and  scoot  " 34 

I   felt  that  the    light   of  Romance  was    going   out    of  my 

life 40 

Castro,  on  his  hands  and  knees,  startled  me  by  whisper- 
ing at   my   feet:   "Stand  aside,  seiior " 166 

Standing  there,  in  the  midst  of  the  whispering,  bare- 
headed, kneeling,  and  villainous  crowd,  I  had  a 
vivid  vision  of  her  pale,  dim,  pitiful   face  .      .      .      .190 

Like  a  shadow  thrown   from  afar     .     .     .     upon  a  snowy 

sheet — 208 

Allowed   his   head   to    drop   on    his    breast,  as    if  saddened 

by   the   vanity   of  human   ambition 326 

This  was  his   passing.      This — 388 


ROMANCE 


PART   FIRST 

THE  QUARRY  AND  THE  BEACH 

CHAPTER  I 


I 


"^O  yesterday  and  to  to-day  I  say  my  polite  "  vaya  usted  con 
Dios.''  What  are  these  days  to  me?  But  that  far-ofE 
day  of  my  romance,  when  from  between  the  blue  and 
white  bales  in  Don  Ramon's  darkened  storeroom,  at  Kingston,  I 
saw  the  door  open  before  the  figure  of  an  old  man  with  the  tired, 
long,  white  face,  that  day  I  am  not  likely  to  forget.  I  remember 
the  chilly  smell  of  the  typical  West  Indian  store,  the  indescribable 
smell  of  damp  gloom,  of  locos,  of  pimento,  of  olive  oil,  of  new 
sugar,  of  new  rum ;  the  glassy  double  sheen  of  Ramon's  great 
spectacles,  the  piercing  eyes  in  the  mahogany  face,  while  the  tap, 
tap,  tap  of  a  cane  on  the  flags  went  on  behind  the  inner  door; 
the  click  of  the  latch;  the  stream  of  light.  The  door,  petulantly 
thrust  inwards,  struck  against  some  barrels.  I  remember  the 
rattling  of  the  bolts  on  that  door,  and  the  tall  figure  that  appeared 
there,  snuffbox  in  hand.  In  that  land  of  white  clothes,  that  pre- 
cise, ancient,  Castilian  in  black  was  something  to  remember.  The 
black  cane  that  had  made  the  tap,  tap,  tap  dangled  by  a  silken 
cord  from  the  hand  whose  delicate  blue-veined,  wrinkled  wrist 
ran  back  into  a  foam  of  lawn  ruffles.  The  other  hand  paused  in 
the  act  of  conveying  a  pinch  of  snuff  to-  the  nostrils  of  thfe  hooked 
nose  that  had,  on  the  skin  stretched  tight  over  the  bridge,  the 
polish  of  old  ivory ;  the  elbow  pressing  the  black  cocked  hat  against 
the  side;  the  legs,  one  bent,  the  other  bowing  a  little  back — this 
was  the  attitude  of  Seraphina's  father. 

Having  imperiously  thrust  the  door  of  the  inner  room  open,  he 
remained  immovable,  with  no  intention  of  entering,  and  called  in 
a  harsh,  aged  voice:  "  Sefior  Ramon!  Sefior  Ramon!"  and  then 
twice:    "  Seraphina — Seraphina!  "  turning  his  head  back. 


4  ROMANCE 

Then  for  the  first  time  I  saw  Seraphina,  looking  over  her 
father's  shoulder.  I  remember  her  face  of  that  day ;  her  eyes  were 
gray — the  gray  of  black,  not  of  blue.  For  a  moment  they  looked  me 
straight  in  the  face,  reflectively,  unconcerned,  and  then  traveled  to 
the  spectacles  of  old  Ramon, 

This  glance — remember  I  was  young  on  that  day — had  been 
enough  to  set  me  wondering  what  they  were  thinking  of  me ;  what 
they  could  have  seen  of  me. 

"  But  there  he  is — your  Senor  Ramon,"  she  said  to  her  father, 
as  if  she  were  chiding  him  for  a  petulance  in  calling;  "your 
sight  is  not  very  good,  my  poor  little  father — there  he  is,  your 
Ramon." 

The  warm  reflection  of  the  light  behind  her,  gilding  the  curve 
of  her  face  from  ear  to  chin,  lost  itself  in  the  shadows  of  black  lace 
falling  from  dark  hair  that  was  not  quite  black.  She  spoke  as  if 
the  words  clung  to  her  lips;  as  if  she  had  to  put  them  forth  deli- 
cately for  fear  of  damaging  the  frail  things.  She  raised  her  long 
hand  to  a  white  flower  that  clung  above  her  ear  like  the  pen  of  a 
clerk,  and  disappeared.  Ramon  hurried  with  a  stiffness  of  immense 
respect  towards  the  ancient  grandee.    The  door  swung  to. 

I  remained  alone.  The  blue  bales  and  the  white,  and  the  great 
red  oil  jars  loomed  in  the  dim  light  filtering  through  the  jalousies 
out  of  the  blinding  sunlight  of  Jamaica.  A  moment  after,  the 
door  opened  once  more  and  a  young  man  came  out  to  me;  tall, 
slim,  with  very  bright,  very  large  black  eyes  aglow  in  an  absolute 
pallor  of  face.    That  was  Carlos  Riego. 

Well,  that  is  my  yesterday  of  romance,  for  the  many  things  that 
have  passed  between  those  times  and  now  have  become  dim  or  have 
gone  out  of  my  mind.  And  my  day  before  yesterday  was  the  day 
on  which  I,  at  twenty-two,  stood  looking  at  myself  in  the  tall  glass, 
the  day  on  which  I  left  my  home  in  Kent  and  went,  as  chance 
willed  it,  out  to  sea  with  Carlos  Riego. 

That  day  my  cousin  Rooksby  had  become  engaged  to  my  sister 
Veronica,  and  I  had  a  fit  of  jealous  misery.  I  was  rawboned, 
with  fair  hair,  I  had  a  good  skin,  tanned  by  the  weather,  good 
teeth,  and  brown  eyes.  I  had  not  had  a  very  happy  life,  and  I  had 
lived  shut  in  on  myself,  thinking  of  the  wide  world  beyond  my 


PART  FIRST  5 

reach,  that  seemed  to  hold  out  infinite  possibilities  of  romance,  of 
adventure,  of  love,  perhaps,  and  stores  of  gold.  In  the  family  my 
mother  counted;  my  father  did  not.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a 
Scottish  earl  who  had  ruined  himself  again  and  again.  He  had 
been  an  inventor,  a  projector,  and  my  mother  had  been  a  poor 
beauty,  brought  up  on  the  farm  we  still  lived  on — the  last  rag 
of  land  that  had  remained  to  her  father.  Then  she  had  married 
a  good  man  in  his  way ;  a  good  enough  catch ;  moderately  well  off, 
very  amiable,  easily  influenced,  a  dilettante,  and  a  bit  of  a  dreamer, 
too.  He  had  taken  her  into  the  swim  of  the  Regency,  and  his 
purse  had  not  held  out.  So  my  mother,  asserting  herself,  had  in- 
sisted upon  a  return  to  our  farm,  which  had  been  her  dowry.  The 
alternative  would  have  been  a  shabby,  ignominious  life  at  Calais, 
in  the  shadow  of  Brummel  and  such. 

My  father  used  to  sit  all  day  by  the  fire,  inscribing  "  ideas  " 
every  now  and  then  in  a  pocket-book.  I  think  he  was  writing 
an  epic  poem,  and  I  think  he  was  happy  in  an  ineffectual  way. 
He  had  thin  red  hair,  untidy  for  want  of  a  valet,  a  shining,  deli- 
cate, hooked  nose,  narrow-lidded  blue  eyes,  and  a  face  with  the 
color  and  texture  of  a  white-heart  cherry.  He  used  to  spend  his 
days  in  a  hooded  chair.  My  mother  managed  everything,  leading 
an  out-of-door  life  which  gave  her  face  the  color  of  a  wrinkled 
pippin.  It  was  the  face  of  a  Roman  mother,  tight-lipped,  brown- 
eyed,  and  fierce.  You  may  understand  the  kind  of  woman  she  was 
from  the  kind  of  hands  she  employed  on  the  farm.  They  were 
smugglers  and  night-malefactors  to  a  man — and  she  liked  that. 
The  decent,  slow-witted,  gently  devious  type  of  rustic  could  not 
live  under  her.  The  neighbors  round  declared  that  the  Lady 
Mary  Kemp's  farm  was  a  hotbed  of  disorder.  I  expect  it  was,  too  ; 
three  of  our  men  were  hung  up  at  Canterbury  on  one  day — for 
horse-stealing  and  arson.  .  .  .  Anyhow,  that  was  my  mother. 
As  for  me,  I  was  under  her,  and,  since  I  had  my  aspirations,  I  had 
a  rather  bitter  childhood.  And  I  had  others  to  contrast  myself 
with.  First  there  was  Rooksby:  a  pleasant,  well-spoken,  amiable 
young  squire  of  the  immediate  neighborhood ;  young  Sir  Ralph,  a 
man  popular  with  all  sorts,  and  in  love  with  my  sister  Veronica 
from  early  days.  Veronica  was  very  beautiful,  and  very  gentle, 
and  very  kind;  tall,  slim,  with  sloping  white  shoulders  and  long 


6  ROMANCE 

white  arms,  hair  the  color  of  amber,  and  startled  blue  eyes — a  good 
mate  for  Rooksby.  Rooksby  had  foreign  relations,  too.  The  uncle 
from  whom  he  inherited  the  Priory  had  married  a  Riego,  a  Cas- 
tilian,  during  the  Peninsular  war.  He  had  been  a  prisoner  at  the 
time — he  had  died  in  Spain,  I  think.  When  Ralph  made  the  grand 
tour,  he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  his  Spanish  relations;  he 
used  to  talk  about  them,  the  Riegos,  and  Veronica  used  to  talk  of 
what  he  said  of  them  until  they  came  to  stand  for  Romance,  the 
romance  of  the  outer  world,  to  me.  One  day,  a  little  before  Ralph 
and  Veronica  became  engaged,  these  Spaniards  descended  out  of 
the  blue.  It  was  Romance  suddenly  dangled  right  before  my  eyes. 
It  was  Romance ;  you  have  no  idea  what  it  meant  to  me  to  talk  to 
Carlos  Riego. 

Rooksby  was  kind  enough.  He  had  me  over  to  the  Priory, 
where  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  two  maiden  ladies,  his 
second  cousins,  who  kept  house  for  him.  Yes,  Ralph  was  kind; 
but  I  rather  hated  him  for  it,  and  was  a  little  glad  when  he,  too, 
had  to  suffer  some  of  the  pangs  of  jealousy — jealousy  of  Carlos 
Riego. 

Carlos  was  dark,  and  of  a  grace  to  set  Ralph  as  much  in  the 
shade  as  Ralph  himself  set  me ;  and  Carlos  had  seen  a  deal  more 
of  the  world  than  Ralph.  He  had  a  foreign  sense  of  humor  that 
made  him  forever  ready  to  sacrifice  his  personal  dignity.  It  made 
Veronica  laugh,  and  even  drew  a  grim  smile  from  my  mother;  but 
it  gave  Ralph  bad  moments.  How  he  came  into  these  parts  was  a 
little  of  a  mystery.  When  Ralph  was  displeased  with  this  Spanish 
connection  he  used  to  swear  that  Carlos  had  cut  a  throat  or  taken- 
a  purse.  At  other  times  he  used  to  say  that  it  was  a  political 
matter.  In  fine,  Carlos  had  the  hospitality  of  the  Priory,  and  the 
title  of  Count — when  he  chose  to  use  it.  He  brought  with  him  a 
short,  pursy,  bearded  companion,  half  friend,  half  servant,  who  said 
he  had  served  in  Napoleon's  Spanish  contingent,  and  had  a  v/ay 
of  striking  his  breast  with  a  wooden  hand  (his  arm  had  suffered 
in  a  cavalry  charge),  and  exclaiming,  "  I,  Tomas  Castro!  .  .  ." 
He  was  an  Andalusian. 

For  myself,  the  first  shock  of  his  strangeness  overcome,  I  adored 
Carlos,  and  Veronica  liked  him,  and  laughed  at  him,  till  one  day 
he  said  good-by  and  rode  o£E  along  the  London  road,  followed  by 


PART  FIRST  7 

his  Tomas  Castro.     I  had  an  intense  longing  to  go  with  him  out 
into  the  great  world  that  brooded  all  round  our  foot-hills. 

You  are  to  remember  that  I  knew  nothing  whatever  of  that 
great  world.  I  had  never  been  further  away  from  our  farm  than 
just  to  Canterbury  school,  to  Hythe  market,  to  Romney  market. 
Our  farm  nestled  down  under  the  steep,  brown  downs,  just  beside 
the  Roman  road  to  Canterbury;  Stone  Street — the  Street — we 
called  it.  Ralph's  land  was  just  on  the  other  side  of  the  Street, 
and  the  shepherds  on  the  downs  used  to  see  of  nights  a  dead-and- 
gone  Rooksby,  Sir  Peter  that  was,  ride  upon  it  past  the  quarry 
with  his  head  under  his  arm.  I  don't  think  I  believed  in  him,  but 
I  believed  in  the  smugglers  who  shared  the  highway  with  that 
horrible  ghost.  It  is  impossible  for  anj'one  nowadays  to  conceive 
the  effect  these  smugglers  had  upon  life  thereabouts  and  then. 
They  were  the  power  to  which  everything  else  deferred.  They 
used  to  overrun  the  country  in  great  bands,  and  brooked  no  inter- 
ference with  their  business.  Not  long  before  they  had  defeated 
regular  troops  in  a  pitched  battle  on  the  marsh,  and  on  the  very 
day  I  went  away  I  remember  we  couldn't  do  our  carting  because 
the  smugglers  had  given  us  notice  they  would  need  our  horses  in 
the  evening.  They  were  a  power  in  the  land  where  there  was 
violence  enough  without  them,  God  knows !  Our  position  on  that 
Street  put  us  in  the  midst  of  it  all.  At  dusk  we  shut  our  doors, 
pulled  down  our  blinds,  sat  round  the  fire,  and  knew  pretty  well 
what  was  going  on  outside.  There  would  be  long  whistles  in  the 
dark,  and  when  we  found  men  lurking  in  our  barns  we  feigned 
not  to  see  them — it  was  safer  so.  The  smugglers — the  Free 
Traders,  they  called  themselves — were  as  well  organized  for 
helping  malefactors  out  of  the  country  as  for  running  goods  in ;  so 
it  came  about  that  we  used  to  have  coiners  and  forgers,  murderers 
and  French  spies — all  sorts  of  malefactors — hiding  in  our  straw 
throughout  the  day,  waiting  for  the  whistle  to  blow  from  the 
Street  at  dusk.  I,  born  with  my  century,  was  familiar  with  these 
things ;  but  my  mother  forbade  my  meddling  with  them.  I  expect 
she  knew  enough  herself — all  the  resident  gentry  did.  But  Ralph 
— though  he  was  to  some  extent  of  the  new  school,  and  used  to 
boast  that,  if  applied  to,  he  would  grant  a  warrant  against  any 
Free  Trader — never  did,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  or  not  for  many  years, 


8  ROMANCE 

Carlos,  then,  Rooksby's  Spanish  kinsman,  had  come  and  gone, 
and  I  envied  him  his  going,  with  his  air  of  mystery,  to  some  far-off 
lawless  adventures — perhaps  over  there  in  Spain,  where  there  were 
war  and  rebellion.  Shortly  afterwards  Rooksby  proposed  for  the 
hand  of  Veronica  and  was  accepted — by  my  mother.  Veronica 
went  about  looking  happy.  That  upset  me,  too.  It  seemed  unjust 
that  she  would  go  out  into  the  great  world — to  Bath,  to  Brighton, 
should  see  the  Prince  Regent  and  the  great  fights  on  Hounslow 
Heath — whilst  I  was  to  remain  forever  a  farmer's  boy.  That 
afternoon  I  was  upstairs,  looking  at  the  reflection  of  myself  in  the 
tall  glass,  wondering  miserably  why  I  seemed  to  be  such  an  oaf. 

The  voice  of  Rooksby  hailed  me  suddenly  from  downstairs. 
"  Hey,  John — John  Kemp;  come  down,  I  say!  " 

I  started  away  from  the  glass  as  if  I  had  been  taken  in  an  act 
of  folly.  Rooksby  was  flicking  his  leg  with  his  switch  in  the  door- 
way, at  the  bottom  of  the  narrow  flight  of  stairs. 

He  wanted  to  talk  to  me,  he  said,  and  I  followed  him  out 
through  the  yard  on  to  the  soft  road  that  climbs  the  hill  to  west- 
ward. The  evening  was  falling  slowly  and  mournfully;  it  was 
dark  already  in  the  folds  of  the  somber  downs. 

We  passed  the  corner  of  the  orchard. 

"  I  know  what  you've  got  to  tell  me,"  I  said.  "  You're  going 
to  marry  Veronica.  Well,  you've  no  need  of  my  blessing.  Some 
people  have  all  the  luck.    Here  am  I    .    .    .    look  at  me!" 

Ralph  walked  with  his  head  bent  down. 

"  Confound  it,"  I  said,  "  I  shall  run  away  to  sea!  I  tell  you, 
I'm  rotting,  rotting!  There!  I  say,  Ralph,  give  me  Carlos' 
direction.  ..."  I  caught  hold  of  his  arm.  "  I'll  go  after  him. 
He'd  show  me  a  little  life.    He  said  he  would." 

Ralph  remained  lost  in  a  kind  of  gloomy  abstraction,  while  I 
went  on  worrying  him  for  Carlos'  address. 

"  Carlos  is  the  only  soul  I  know  outside  five  miles  from  here. 
Besides,  he's  friends  in  the  Indies.  That's  where  I  want  to  go, 
and  he  could  give  me  a  cast.  You  remember  what  Tomas  Castro 
said.     .     .     ." 

Rooksby  came  to  a  sudden  halt,  and  began  furiously  to  switch 
his  corded  legs. 

"  Curse  Carlos,  and  his  Castro,  too.     They'll  have  me  in  jail 


PART  FIRST  g 

betwixt  them.  They're  both  in  my  red  barn,  if  you  want  their 
direction.     .    .     ." 

He  hurried  on  suddenly  up  the  hill,  leaving  me  gazing  upwards 
at  him.  When  I  caught  him  up  he  was  swearing — as  one  did  in 
those  days — and  stamping  his  foot  in  the  middle  of  the  road. 

"  I  tell  you,"  he  said  violently,  "  it's  the  most  accursed  business! 
That  Castro,  with  his  Cuba,  is  nothing  but  a  blasted  buccaneer 
.  .  .  and  Carlos  is  no  better.  They  go  to  Liverpool  for  a  pas- 
sage to  Jamaica,  and  see  what  comes  of  it!  " 

It  seems  that  on  Liverpool  docks,  in  the  owl-light,  they  fell  in 
with  an  elderly  hunks  just  returned  from  West  Indies,  who  asks 
the  time  at  the  door  of  a  shipping  agent.  Castro  pulls  out  a 
watch,  and  the  old  fellow  jumps  on  it,  vows  it's  his  own,  taken 
from  him  years  before  by  some  picaroons  on  his  outward  voyage. 
Out  from  the  agent's  comes  another,  and  swears  that  Castro  is  one 
of  the  self-same  crew.  He  himself  purported  to  be  the  master  of 
the  very  ship.  Afterwards — in  the  solitary  dusk  among  the  ropes 
and  bales — there  had  evidently  been  some  play  with  knives,  and  it 
ended  with  a  Right  to  London,  and  then  down  to  Rooksby's  red 
barn,  with  the  runners  in  full  cry  after  them. 

"  Think  of  it,"  Rooksby  said,  "  and  me  a  justice,  and  .  .  . 
oh,  it  drives  me  wild,  this  hole-and-corner  work!  There's  a  filthy 
muddle  with  the  Free  Traders — a  whistle  to  blow  after  dark  at 
the  quarry.  To-night  of  all  nights,  and  me  a  justice  .  .  .  and 
as  good  as  a  married  man !  " 

I  looked  at  him  wonderingly  in  the  dusk;  his  high  coat  collar 
almost  hid  his  face,  and  his  hat  was  pressed  down  over  his  eyes. 
The  thing  seemed  incredible  to  me.  Here  was  an  adventure, 
and  I  was  shocked  to  see  that  Rooksby  was  in  a  pitiable  state 
about  it. 

"  But,  Ralph,"  I  said,  "  I  would  help  Carlos." 

"  Oh,  you,"  he  said  fretfully.  "  You  want  to  run  your  head  into 
a  noose;  that's  what  it  comes  to.  Why,  I  may  have  to  flee  the 
country.  There's  the  red-breasts  poking  their  noses  into  every 
cottage  on  the  Ashford  road."  He  strode  on  again.  A  wisp  of 
mist  came  stealing  down  the  hill.  "  I  can't  give  my  cousin  up.  He 
could  be  smuggled  out,  right  enough.  But  then  I  should  have  to 
get  across  salt  water,  too,  for  at  least  a  year.    Why " 


10  ROMANCE 

He  seemed  ready  to  tear  his  hair,  and  then  I  put  in  my  say.  He 
needed  a  little  persuasion,  though,  in  spite  of  Veronica. 

I  should  have  to  meet  Carlos  Riego  and  Castro  in  a  little  fir- 
wood  above  the  quarry,  in  half  an  hour's  time.  All  I  had  to  do 
w^as  to  whistle  three  bars  of  LillibuUero,"  as  a  signal.  A  con- 
nection had  been  already  arranged  with  the  Free  Traders  on  the 
road  beside  the  quarry,  and  they  were  coming  down  that  night,  as 
we  knew  well  enough,  both  of  us.  They  were  coming  in  force 
from  Canterbury  way  down  to  the  Marsh.  It  had  cost  Ralph  a 
pretty  penny;  but,  once  in  the  hands  of  the  smugglers,  his  cousin 
and  Castro  would  be  safe  enough  from  the  runners ;  it  would  have 
needed  a  troop  of  horse  to  take  them.  The  difficulty  was  that  of 
late  the  smugglers  themselves  had  become  demoralized.  There 
were  ugly  rumors  of  it;  and  there  was  a  danger  that  Castro  and 
Carlos,  if  not  looked  after,  might  end  their  days  in  some  marsh- 
dyke.  It  was  desirable  that  someone  well  known  in  our  parts 
should  see  them  to  the  seashore.  A  boat,  there,  was  to  take  them 
out  into  the  bay,  where  an  outward-bound  West  Indiaman  would 
pick  them  up.  But  for  Ralph's  fear  for  his  neck,  which  had  in- 
creased in  value  since  its  devotion  to  Veronica,  he  would  have 
squired  his  cousin.  As  it  was,  he  fluttered  round  the  idea  of  letting 
me  take  his  place.  Finally  he  settled  it ;  and  I  embarked  on  a  long 
adventure. 


CHAPTER  II 

BETWEEN  moonrise  and  sunset  I  was  stumbling  through 
the  bracken  of  the  little  copse  that  was  like  a  tuft  of  hair 
'  on  the  brow  of  the  great  white  quarry.  It  was  quite  dark, 
in  among  the  trees.  I  made  the  circuit  of  the  copse,  whistling 
softly  my  three  bars  of  "  Lillibullero."  Then  I  plunged  into  it. 
The  bracken  underfoot  rustled  and  rustled.  I  came  to  a  halt.  A 
little  bar  of  light  lay  on  the  horizon  in  front  of  me,  almost  color- 
less. It  was  crossed  again  and  again  by  the  small  fir-trunks  that 
were  little  more  than  wands.  A  woodpigeon  rose  with  a  sudden 
crash  of  sound,  flapping  away  against  the  branches.  My  pulse 
was  dancing  with  delight — my  heart,  too.  It  was  like  a  game  of 
hide-and-seek,  and  yet  it  was  life  at  last.  Everything  grew  silent 
again,  and  I  began  to  think  I  had  missed  my  time.  Down  below 
in  the  plain,  a  great  way  off,  a  dog  was  barking  continuously.  I 
moved  forward  a  few  paces  and  whistled.  The  glow  of  adventure 
began  to  die  away.  There  was  nothing  at  all — a  little  mystery  of 
light  on  the  tree-trunks. 

I  moved  forward  again,  getting  back  towards  the  road.  Against 
the  glimmer  of  dead  light  I  thought  I  caught  the  outlines  of  a 
man's  hat  down  among  the  tossing  lines  of  the  bracken.  I  whis- 
pered loudly: 

"  Carlos!     Carlos!  " 

There  was  a  moment  of  hoarse  whispering;  a  sudden  gruff 
sound.  A  shaft  of  blazing  yellow  light  darted  from  the  level  of  the 
ground  into  my  dazed  eyes.  A  man  sprang  at  me  and  thrust  some- 
thing cold  and  knobby  into  my  neckcloth.  The  light  continued  to 
blaze  into  my  eyes ;  it  moved  upwards  and  shone  on  a  red  waistcoat 
dashed  with  gilt  buttons.  I  was  being  arrested.  .  .  .  "In  the 
King's  name.  .  .  ."  It  was  a  most  sudden  catastrophe.  A  hand 
was  clutching  my  windpipe. 

"  Don't  you  so  much  as  squeak,  Mr.  Castro,"  a  voice  whispered 
in  my  ear. 

zi 


12  ROMANCE 

The  lanthorn  light  suddenly  died  out,  and  I  heard  whispers. 

"  Get  him  out  on  to  the  road.  .  .  .  I'll  tackle  the  other 
.   .   .   Darbies.   .  .   .   Mind  his  knife." 

I  was  like  a  confounded  rabbit  in  their  hands.  One  of  them 
had  his  fist  on  my  collar  and  jerked  me  out  upon  the  hard  road. 
We  rolled  down  the  embankment,  but  he  was  on  the  top.  It 
seemed  an  abominable  episode,  a  piece  of  bad  faith  on  the  part  of 
fate.  I  ought  to  have  been  exempt  from  these  sordid  haps,  but 
the  man's  hot  leathery  hand  on  my  throat  was  like  a  foretaste  of  the 
other  collar.  And  I  was  horribly  afraid — horribly — of  the  sort  of 
mysterious  potency  of  the  laws  that  these  men  represented,  and  I 
could  think  of  nothing  to  do. 

We  stood  in  a  little  slanting  cutting  in  the  shadow.  A  watery 
light  before  the  moon's  rising  slanted  downwards  from  the  hilltop 
along  the  opposite  bank.    We  stood  in  utter  silence. 

"  If  you  stir  a  hair,"  my  captor  said  coolly,  "  I'll  squeeze  the 
blood  out  of  your  throat,  like  a  rotten  orange." 

He  had  the  calmness  of  one  dealing  with  an  every-day  incident; 
yet  the  incident  was — it  should  have  been — tremendous.  We 
stood  waiting  silently  for  an  eternity,  as  one  waits  for  a  hare  to 
break  covert  before  the  beaters.  From  down  the  long  hill  came 
a  small  sound  of  horses'  hoofs — a  sound  like  the  beating  of  the 
heart,  intermittent — a  muffled  thud  on  turf,  and  a  faint  clink  of 
iron.  It  seemed  to  die  away  unheard  by  the  runner  beside  me. 
Presently  there  was  a  crackling  of  the  short  pine  branches,  a  rustle, 
and  a  hoarse  whisper  said  from  above: 

"Other's  cleared,  Thoms.     Got  that  one  safe?" 

"  All  serene." 

The  man  from  above  dropped  down  into  the  road,  a  clumsy, 
cloaked  figure.  He  turned  his  lantern  upon  me,  in  a  painful 
yellow  glare. 

"What!  'Tis  the  young  'un,"  he  grunted,  after  a  moment. 
"  Read  the  warrant,  Thoms." 

My  captor  began  to  fumble  in  his  pocket,  pulled  out  a  paper, 
and  bent  down  into  the  light.  Suddenly  he  paused  and  looked  up 
at  me. 

"  This  aint Mr.  Lillywhite,  I  don't  believe  this  aint  a 

Jack  Spaniard." 


PART  FIRST  13 

The  clinks  of  bits  and  stirrup-irons  came  down  in  a  waft  again. 

"  That  be  hanged  for  a  tale,  Thorns,"  the  man  with  the  Ian- 
thorn  said  sharply.  "If  this  here  aint  Riego — or  the  other — 
I'll    .    .    ." 

I  began  to  come  out  of  my  stupor. 

"  My  name's  John  Kemp,"  I  said. 

The  other  grunted.    "  Hurry  up.  Thorns." 

"  But,  Mr.  Lillywhite,"  Thoms  reasoned,  "  he  don't  speak  like 
a  Dago.  Split  me  if  he  do!  And  we  aint  in  a  friendly  country 
either,  you  know  that.    We  can't  afford  to  rile  the  gentry!  " 

I  plucked  up  courage. 

"  You'll  get  your  heads  broke,"  I  said,  "  if  you  wait  much 
longer.     Hark  to  that!  " 

The  approaching  horses  had  turned  off  the  turf  on  to  the  hard 
road ;  the  steps  of  first  one  and  then  another  sounded  out  down  the 
silent  hill.  I  knew  it  was  the  Free  Traders  from  that;  for  except 
between  banks  they  kept  to  the  soft  roadsides  as  if  it  were  an  article 
of  faith.    The  noise  of  hoofs  became  that  of  an  army. 

The  runners  began  to  consult.  The  shadow  called  Thoms  was 
for  bolting  across  country;  but  Lillywhite  was  not  built  for  speed. 
Besides  he  did  not  know  the  lie  of  the  land,  and  believed  the  Free 
Traders  were  mere  bogeys. 

"  They'll  never  touch  us,"  Lill5rwhite  grumbled.  "  We've  a 
warrant  .  .  .  King's  name.  .  .  ."  He  was  flashing  his  Ian- 
thorn  aimlessly  up  the  hill. 

"  Besides,"  he  began  again,  "  we've  got  this  gallus  bird.  If  he's 
not  a  Spaniard,  he  knows  all  about  them.  I  heard  him.  Kemp  he 
may  be,  but  he  spoke  Spanish  up  there  .  .  .  and  we've  got  some- 
thing for  our  trouble.     He'll  swing,  I'll  lay  you  a " 

From  far  above  us  came  a  shout,  then  a  confused  noise  of  voices. 
The  moon  began  to  get  up;  above  the  cutting  the  clouds  had  a 
fringe  of  sudden  silver.  A  horseman,  cloaked  and  muffled  to  the 
ears,  trotted  warily  towards  us. 

"  What's  up?  "  he  hailed  from  a  matter  of  ten  yards.  "  What 
are  you  showing  that  glim  for?    Anything  wrong  below?  " 

The  runners  kept  silence ;  we  heard  the  click  of  a  pistol  lock. 

"  In  the  king's  name,"  Lillywhite  shouted,  "  get  off  that  nag 
and  lend  a  hand!    We've  a  prisoner." 


14  ROMANCE 

The  horseman  gave  an  incredulous  whistle,  and  then  began 
to  shout,  his  voice  winding  mournfully  uphill,  "  Hallo!  Hal- 
lo— o — o."  An  echo  stole  back,  "Hallo!  Hallo — o — o";  then 
a  number  of  voices.  The  horse  stood,  drooping  its  head,  and  the 
man  turned  in  his  saddle.  "  Runners,"  he  shouted,  "  Bow  Street 
runners!  Come  along,  come  along,  boys!  We'll  roast  'em. 
.     .     .     Runners!     Runners!  " 

The  sound  of  heavy  horses  at  a  jolting  trot  came  to  our  ears. 

"  We're  in  for  it,"  Lillywhite  grunted.     "  D n  this  county 

of  Kent." 

Thoms  never  loosed  his  hold  of  my  collar.  At  the  steep  of  the 
hill  the  men  and  horses  came  into  sight  against  the  white  sky,  a 
confused  crowd  of  ominous  things. 

"  Turn  that  lanthorn  off'n  me,"  the  horseman  said.  "  Don't  you 
see  you  frighten  my  horse?    Now,  boys,  get  round  them.   .   .   ." 

The  great  horses  formed  an  irregular  half-circle  round  us;  men 
descended  clumsily,  like  sacks  of  corn.  The  lanthorn  was  seized 
and  flashed  upon  us;  there  was  a  confused  hubbub.  I  caught  my 
own  name. 

"  Yes,  I'm  Kemp  .  .  .  John  Kemp,"  I  called.  "  I'm  true 
blue." 

"  Blue  be  hanged !  "  a  voice  shouted  back.  "  What  be  you  a-doing 
with  runners?  " 

The  riot  went  on — forty  or  fifty  voices.  The  runners  were 
seized ;  several  hands  caught  at  me.  It  was  impossible  to  make 
myself  heard ;  a  fist  struck  me  on  the  cheek. 

"Gibbet  'em,"  somebody  shrieked;  "they  hung  my  nephew! 
Gibbet  'em  all  the  three.  Young  Kemp's  mother's  a  bad  'un.  An 
informer  he  is.     Up  with  'em !  " 

I  was  pulled  down  on  my  knees,  then  thrust  forward,  and  then 
left  to  myself  while  they  rushed  to  bonnet  Lillywhite.  I  stumbled 
against  a  great,  quiet  farm  horse. 

A  continuous  scuffling  went  on ;  an  imperious  voice  cried,  "  Hold 
your  tongues,  5^ou  fools!  Hold  your  tongues!  .  .  ."  Someone 
else  called:    "  Hear  to  Jack  Rangsley.     Hear  to  him!  " 

There  was  a  silence.  I  saw  a  hand  light  a  torch  at  the  lanthorn, 
and  the  crowd  of  faces,  the  muddle  of  limbs,  the  horses'  heads,  and 
the  quiet  trees  above,  flickered  into  sight. 


PART  FIRST  IS 

"  Don't  let  them  hang  me,  Jack  Rangsley,"  I  sobbed.  "  You 
know  I'm  no  spy.    Don't  let  'em  hang  me,  Jack." 

He  rode  his  horse  up  to  me,  and  caught  me  by  the  collar. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  he  said  roughly.  He  began  to  make  a 
set  speech,  anathematizing  runners.  He  moved  to  tie  our  feet, 
and  hang  us  by  our  finger-nails  over  the  quarry  edge. 

A  hubbub  of  assent  and  dissent  went  up;  then  the  crowd  be- 
came unanimous.     Rangsley  slipped  from  his  horse. 

"  Blindfold  'em,  lads,"  he  cried,  and  turned  me  sharply  round. 

"  Don't  struggle,"  he  whispered  in  my  ear;  his  silk  handkerchief 
came  cool  across  my  eyelids.  I  felt  hands  fumbling  with  a  knot  at 
the  back  of  my  head.  "  You're  all  right,"  he  said  again.  The 
hubbub  of  voices  ceased  suddenly.    "  Now,  lads,  bring  'em  along." 

A  voice  I  knew  said  their  watchword,  "  Snuff  and  enough,'' 
loudly,  and  then,  "What's  agate?" 

Someone  else  answered,  "  It's  Rooksby,  it's  Sir  Ralph." 

The  voice  interrupted  sharply,  "  No  names,  now.  /  don't  want 
hanging."  The  hand  left  my  arm;  there  was  a  pause  in  the  mo- 
tion of  the  procession.  I  caught  a  moment's  sound  of  whispering. 
Then  a  new  voice  cried,  "  Strip  the  runners  to  the  shirt.  Strip 
'em.  That's  it."  I  heard  some  groans  and  a  cry,  "  You  won't 
murder  us."  Then  a  nasal  drawl,  "  We  will  sure — /y."  Someone 
else,  Rangsley,  I  think,  called,  "  Bring  'em  along — this  way 
now." 

After  a  period  of  turmoil  we  seemed  to  come  out  of  the  crowd 
upon  a  very  rough,  descending  path;  Rangsley  had  called  out, 
"  Now,  then,  the  rest  of  you  be  off;  we've  got  enough  here  ";  and 
the  hoofs  of  heavy  horses  sounded  again.  Then  we  came  to  a  halt, 
and  Rangsley  called  sharply  from  close  to  me : 

"  Now,  you  runners — and  you,  John  Kemp — here  you  be  on  the 
brink  of  eternity,  above  the  old  quarry.  I'here's  a  sheer  drop  of  a 
hundred  feet.  We'll  tie  your  legs  and  hang  you  by  your  fingers. 
If  you  hang  long  enough,  you'll  have  time  to  say  your  prayers. 
Look  alive,  lads!  " 

The  voice  of  one  of  the  runners  began  to  shout,  "  You'll  swing 
for  this — you " 

As  for  me  I  was  in  a  dream.  "  Jack,"  I  said,  "  Jack,  you 
won't " 


i6  ROMANCE 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  the  voice  said  in  a  whisper.  "  Mum, 
now!     It's  all  rights 

It  withdrew  itself  a  little  from  my  ear  and  called,  "  Now  then, 
ready  with  them.     When  I  say  three.    .    .    ." 

I  heard  groans  and  curses,  and  began  to  shout  for  help.  My 
voice  came  back  in  an  echo,  despairingly.  Suddenly  I  was  dragged 
backward,  and  the  bandage  pulled  from  my  eyes. 

"  Come  along,"  Rangsley  said,  leading  me  gently  enough  to  the 
road,  which  was  five  steps  behind.  "  It's  all  a  joke,"  he  snarled. 
"  A  pretty  bad  one  for  those  catchpolls.  Hear  'em  groan.  The 
drop's  not  two  feet." 

We  made  a  few  paces  down  the  road ;  the  pitiful  voices  of  the 
runners  crying  for  help  came  plainly  to  my  ears. 

"You — 'they — aren't  murdering  them?"  I  asked. 

"  No,  no,"  he  answered.  "  Can't  afford  to.  Wish  we  could; 
but  they'd  make  it  too  hot  for  us." 

We  began  to  descend  the  hill.  From  the  quarry  a  voice 
shrieked : 

"  Help — help — for  the  love  of  God — I  can't   .   .   ." 

There  was  a  grunt  and  the  sound  of  a  fall;  then  a  precisely 
similar  sequence  of  sounds. 

"  That  '11  teach  'em,"  Rangsley  said  ferociously.  "  Come  along 
— they've  only  rolled  down  a  bank.  They  weren't  over  the  quarry. 
It's  all  right,  I  swear  it  is." 

And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  that  was  the  smugglers'  ferocious  idea 
of  humor.  They  would ,  hang  any  undesirable  man,  like  these 
runners,  whom  it  would  make  too  great  a  stir  to  murder  outright, 
over  the  edge  of  a  low  bank,  and  swear  to  him  that  he  was  clawing 
the  brink  of  Shakespeare's  Cliff  or  any  other  hundred-foot  drop. 
The  wretched  creatures  suffered  all  the  tortures  of  death  before 
they  let  go,  and,  as  a  rule,  they  never  returned  to  our  parts. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  spirit  of  the  age  has  changed ;  everything  has  changed  ■ 
so  utterly  that  one  can  hardly  believe  in  the  existence  of 
one's  earlier  self.  But  I  can  still  remember  how,  at  that 
moment,  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  my  heart — a  tiling  that 
bounded  and  leapt  within  mxy  chest,  a  little  sickeningly.  The  other 
details  I  forget. 

Jack  Rangsiey  was  a  tall,  big-boned,  thin  man,  with  something 
sinister  in  the  lines  of  his  horseman's  cloak,  and  something  reckless 
in  the  way  he  set  his  spurred  heel  on  the  ground.  He  was  the  son 
of  an  old  Marsh  squire.  Old  Rangsiey  had  been  head  of  the  last 
of  the  Owlers — the  aristocracy  of  export  smugglers — and  Jack 
had  sunk  a  little  in  becoming  the  head  of  the  Old  Bourne  Tap 
importers.  But  he  was  hard  enough,  tyrannical  enough,  and  had 
nerve  enough  to  keep  Free-trading  alive  in  our  parts  until  long 
after  it  had  become  an  anachronism.  He  ended  his  days  on  the 
gallows,  of  course,  but  that  was  long  afterwards. 

"  I'd  give  a  dollar  to  know  what's  going  on  in  those  runners' 
heads,"  Rangsiey  said,  pointing  back  with  his  crop.  He  laughed 
gayly.  The  great  white  face  of  the  quarry  rose  up  pale  in  the 
moonlight ;  the  dusky  red  fires  of  the  limekilns  glowed  at  the 
base,  sending  up  a  blood-red  dust  of  sullen  smoke.  "  I'll  swear 
they  think  they've  dropped  straight  into  hell. 

"  You'll  have  to  cut  the  country,  John,"  he  added  suddenly, 
"  they'll  have  got  your  name  uncommon  pat.  I  did  my  best  for 
you."  He  had  had  me  tied  up  like  that  before  the  runners'  eyes  in 
order  to  take  their  suspicions  off  me.  He  had  made  a  pretense  to 
murder  me  with  the  same  idea.  But  he  didn't  believe  they  were 
taken  in.  "  There'll  be  warrants  out  before  morning,  if  they  aint 
too  shaken.  But  what  were  you  doing  in  the  business?  The  two 
Spaniards  were  lying  in  the  fern  looking  on  when  you  come 
blundering  your  clumsy  nose  in.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  Rooksby 
you  might  have Hullo,  there!  "  he  broke  off. 

17 


1 8  ROMANCE 

An  answer  came  from  the  black  shadow  of  a  clump  of  roadside 
elms.  I  made  out  the  forms  of  three  or  four  horses  standing  with 
their  heads  together. 

"Come  along,"  Rangsley  said;  "up  with  you.  We'll  talk 
as  we  go." 

Someone  helped  me  into  a  saddle;  my  legs  trembled  in  the  stir- 
rups as  if  I  had  ridden  a  thousand  miles  on  end  already.  I  imagine 
I  must  have  fallen  into  a  stupor ;  for  I  have  only  a  vague  impres- 
sion of  somebody's  exculpating  himself  to  me.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
Ralph,  after  having  egged  me  on,  in  the  intention  of  staying  at 
home,  had  had  qualms  of  conscience,  and  had  come  to  the  quarry. 
It  was  he  who  had  cried  the  watchword,  "  Snuif  and  enough," 
and  who  had  held  the  whispered  consultation.  Carlos  and  Castro 
had  waited  in  their  hiding-place,  having  been  spectators  of  the 
arrival  of  the  runners  and  of  my  capture.  I  gathered  this  long 
afterwards.  At  that  moment  I  was  conscious  only  of  the  motion 
of  the  horse  beneath  me,  of  intense  weariness,  and  of  the  voice  of 
Ralph,  who  was  lamenting  his  own  cowardice. 

"If  it  had  come  at  any  other  time!"  he  kept  on  repeating. 

"  But  now,  with  Veronica  to  think  of ! You  take  me,  Johnny, 

don't  you?  " 

My  companions  rode  silently.  After  we  had  passed  the  houses 
of  a  little  village  a  heavy  mist  fell  upon  us,  white,  damp,  and 
clogging.    Ralph  reined  his  horse  beside  mine. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  began  again,  "  I'm  miserably  sorry  I  got  you 
into  this  scrape.  I  swear  I  wouldn't  have  had  it  happen,  not  for 
a  thousand  pounds — not  for  ten." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  I  said  cheerfully. 

"  Ah,  but,"  Rooksby  said,  "  you'll  have  to  leave  the  country  for 
a  time.     Until  I  can  arrange.     I  will.    You  can  trust  me." 

"  Oh,  he'll  have  to  leave  the  country,  for  sure,"  Rangsley  said 
jovially,  "  if  he  wants  to  live  it  down.  There's  five-and-forty 
warrants  out  against  me — .but  they  dursent  serve  'em.  But  he's 
not  me." 

"  It's  a  miserable  business,"  Ralph  said.  He  had  an  air  of  the 
profoundest  dejection.  In  the  misty  light  he  looked  like  a  man 
mortally  wounded,  riding  from  a  battle-field. 

"  Let  him  come  with  us,"   the  musical  voice  of  Carlos  came 


PART  FIRST  19 

through  the  mist  in  front  of  us.  "  He  shall  see  the  world  a 
little." 

"For  God's  sake  hold  your  tongue!"  Ralph  answered  him. 
"  There's  mischief  enough.     He  shall  go  to  France." 

"  Oh,  let  the  young  blade  rip  about  the  world  for  a  year  or  two, 
squire,"  Rangsley's  voice  said  from  behind  us. 

In  the  end  Ralph  let  me  go  with  Carlos — actually  across  the 
sea,  and  to  the  West  Indies.  I  begged  and  implored  him ;  it 
seemed  that  now  there  was  a  chance  for  me  to  find  my  world  of 
romance.  And  Ralph,  who,  though  one  of  the  most  law-respecting 
of  men,  was  not  for  the  moment  one  of  the  most  valorous,  was  wild 
to  wash  his  hands  of  the  whole  business.  He  did  his  best  for  me ; 
he  borrowed  a  goodly  number  of  guineas  from  Rangsley,  who 
traveled  with  a  bag  of  them  at  his  saddle-bow,  ready  to  pay  his 
men  their  seven  shillings  a  head  for  the  run. 

Ralph  remembered,  too — or  I  remembered  for  him — that  he  had 
estates  and  an  agent  in  Jamaica,  and  he  turned  into  the  big  inn  at 
the  junction  of  the  London  road  to  write  a  letter  to  his  agent 
bidding  him  house  me  and  employ  me  as  an  improver.  For  fear 
of  compromising  him  we  waited  in  the  shadow  of  trees  a  furlong 
or  two  down  the  road.  He  came  at  a  trot,  gave  me  the  letter, 
drew  me  aside,  and  began  upbraiding  himself  again.  The  others 
rode  onwards. 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right,"  I  said.  "  It's  fine — it's  fine.  I'd  have  given 
fifty  guineas  for  this  chance  this  morning — and,  Ralph,  I  say,  you 
may  tell  Veronica  why  I'm  going,  but  keep  a  shut  mouth  to  my 
mother.  Let  her  think  I've  run  away — eh?  Don't  spoil  your 
chance." 

He  was  in  such  a  state  of  repentance  and  flutter  that  he  could 
not  let  me  take  a  decent  farewell.  The  sound  of  the  others'  horses 
had  long  died  away  down  the  hill  when  he  began  to  tell  me  what 
he  ought  to  have  done. 

"  I  knew  it  at  once  after  I'd  let  you  go.  I  ought  to  have  kept 
you  out  of  it.  You  came  near  being  murdered.  And  to  think  of  it 
— you,  her  brother — to  be " 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right,"  I  said  gayly,  "  it's  all  right.  You've  to 
stand  by  Veronica.     I've  no  one  to  my  back.     Good-night,  good- 

by." 


20  ROMANCE 

I  pulled  my  horse's  head  round  and  galloped  down  the  hill. 
The  main  body  had  halted  before  setting  out  over  the  shingle  to 
the  shore.  Rangsley  was  waiting  to  conduct  us  into  the  town, 
where  we  should  find  a  man  to  take  us  three  fugitives  out  to  the 
expected  ship.  We  rode  clattering  aggressively  through  the  silence 
of  the  long,  narrow  main  street.  Every  now  and  then  Carlos 
Riego  coughed  lamentably,  but  Tomas  Castro  rode  in  gloomy 
silence.  There  was  a  light  here  and  there  in  a  window,  but  not 
a  soul  stirring  abroad.  On  the  blind  of  an  inn  the  shadow  of  a 
bearded  man  held  the  shadow  of  a  rummer  to  its  mouth. 

"  That  '11  be  my  uncle,"  Rangsley  said.  "  He'll  be  the  man  to 
do  your  errand."  He  called  to  one  of  the  men  behind.  "  Here, 
Joe  Pilcher,  do  you  go  into  the  White  Hart  and  drag  my  Uncle 
Tom  out.    Bring  un  up  to  me — to  the  nest." 

Three  doors  further  on  we  came  to  a  halt,  and  got  down  from 
our  horses. 

Rangsley  knocked  on  a  shutter-panel,  two  hard  knocks  with  the 
crop  and  three  with  the  naked  fist.  Then  a  lock  clicked,  heavy 
bars  rumbled,  and  a  chain  rattled.  Rangsley  pushed  me  through 
the  doorway.  A  side  door  opened,  and  I  saw  into  a  lighted  room 
filled  with  wreaths  of  smoke.  A  paunchy  man  in  a  bob  wig,  with 
a  blue  coat  and  Windsor  buttons,  holding  a  churchwarden  pipe  in 
his  right  hand  and  a  pewter  quart  in  his  left,  came  towards  us. 

"  Hullo,  captain,"  he  said,  "  you'll  be  too  late  with  the  lights, 
won't  you  ?  "     He  had  a  deprecatory  air. 

"Your  watch  is  fast,  Mr.  Mayor,"  Rangsley  answered  surlily; 
"  the  tide  won't  serve  for  half  an  hour  yet." 

"  Cht,  cht,"  the  other  wheezed.  "  No  offense.  We  respect 
you.    But  still,  when  one  has  a  stake,  one  likes  to  know." 

"  My  stake's  all  I  have,  and  my  neck,"  Rangsley  said  impa- 
tiently; "  what's  yours?  A  matter  of  fifty  pun  ten?  .  .  .  Why 
don't  you  make  them  bring  they  lanthorns  ?  " 

A  couple  of  dark  lanthorns  were  passed  to  Rangsley,  who  half- 
uncovered  one,  and  lit  the  way  up  steep  wooden  stairs.  We 
climbed  up  to  a  tiny  cock-loft,  of  which  the  side  towards  the  sea 
was  all  glazed. 

"  Now  you  sit  there,  on  the  floor,"  Rangsley  commanded  ;  "  can't 
leave  you  below ;  the  runners  will  be  coming  to  the  mayor  for  new 


PART  FIRST  21 

warrants  to-morrow,  and  he'd  not  like  to  have  spent  the  night  in 
your  company." 

He  threw  a  casement  open.  The  moon  was  hidden  from  us  by 
clouds,  but,  a  long  way  off,  over  the  distant  sea,  there  was  an  irreg- 
ular patch  of  silver  light,  against  which  the  chimneys  of  the 
opposite  houses  were  silhouetted.  The  church  clock  began 
muffledly  to  chime  the  quarters  behind  us;  then  the  hour  struck — 
ten  strokes. 

Rangsley  set  one  of  his  lanthorns  on  the  window  and  twisted  the 
top.  He  sent  beams  of  yellow  light  shooting  out  to  seawards. 
His  hands  quivered,  and  he  was  mumbling  to  himself  under  the 
influence  of  ungovernable  excitement.  His  stakes  were  very  large, 
and  all  depended  on  the  flicker  of  those  lanthorns  out  towards  the 
men  on  the  luggers  that  were  hidden  in  the  black  expanse  of  the 
sea.  Then  he  waited,  and  against  the  light  of  the  window  I  could 
see  him  mopping  his  forehead  with  the  sleeve  of  his  coat ;  my  heart 
began  to  beat  softly  and  insistently — out  of  sympathy. 

Suddenly,  from  the  deep  shadow  of  the  cloud  above  the  sea,  a 
yellow  light  flashed  silently  out — very  small,  very  distant,  very 
short-lived.  Rangsley  heaved  a  deep  sigh  and  slapped  me  heavily 
on  the  shoulder. 

"  All  serene,  my  buck,"  he  said ;  "  now  let's  see  after  you.  I've 
half  an  hour.    What's  the  ship?  " 

I  was  at  a  loss,  but  Carlos  said  out  of  the  darkness,  "  The  ship 
the  Thames.  My  friend  Senor  Ortiz,  of  the  Minories,  said  you 
would  know." 

"Oh,  I  know,  I  know,"  Rangsley  said  softly;  and,  indeed,  he 
did  know  all  that  was  to  be  known  about  smuggling  out  of  the 
southern  counties  of  people  who  could  no  longer  inhabit  them. 
The  trade  was  a  survival  of  the  days  of  Jacobite  plots.  "  And 
it's  a  hanging  job,  too?  But  it's  no  affair  of  mine."  He  stopped 
and  reflected  for  an  instant. 

I  could  feel  Carlos'  eyes  upon  us,  looking  out  of  the  thick  dark- 
ness,   A  slight  rustling  came  from  the  corner  that  hid  Castro. 

"She  passes  down  channel  to-night,  then?"  Rangsley  said. 
"  With  this  wind  you'll  want  to  be  well  out  in  the  Bay  at  a  quarter 
after  eleven." 

An   abnormal   scuffling,   intermingled   with   snatches   of  jovial 


22  ROMANCE 

remonstrance,  made  itself  heard  from  the  bottom  of  the  ladder. 
A  voice  called  up  through  the  hatch,  "  Here's  your  uncle,  Squahre 
Jack,"  and  a  husky  murmur  corroborated. 

"  Be  you  drunk  again,  you  old  sinner?  "  Rangsley  asked.  "  Lis- 
ten to  me.  .  .  .  Here's  three  men  to  be  set  aboard  the  Thames  at 
a  quarter  after  eleven." 

A  grunt   came   in   reply. 

Rangsley  repeated  slowly. 

The  grunt  answered  again. 

"  Here's  three  men  to  be  set  aboard  the  Thames  at  a  quarter 
after  eleven   .    .    ."  Rangsley  said  again. 

"  Here's  .  .  .  a-cop  .  .  .  three  men  to  be  set  aboard  Thames 
at  quarter  after  eleven,"  a  voice  hiccoughed  back  to  us. 

"  Well,  see  you  do  it,"  Rangsley  said.  "  He's  as  drunk  as  a 
king,"  he  commented  to  us;  "  but  when  you've  said  a  thing  three 
times,  he  remembers — hark  to  him." 

The  drunken  voice  from  below  kept  up  a  constant  babble  of, 
"  Three  men  to  be  set  aboard  Thames  .  .  .  three  men  to  be 
set  .  .  ." 

"  He'll  not  stop  saying  that  till  he  has  you  safe  aboard,"  Rangs- 
ley said.  He  showed  a  glimmer  of  light  down  the  ladder — Carlos 
and  Castro  descended.  I  caught  sight  below  me  of  the  silver  head 
and  the  deep  red  ears  of  the  drunken  uncle  of  Rangsley.  He  had 
been  one  of  the  most  redoubtable  of  the  family,  a  man  of  immense 
strength  and  cunning,  but  a  confirmed  habit  of  consuming  a  pint 
and  a  half  of  gin  a  night  had  made  him  disinclined  for  the  more 
arduous  tasks  of  the  trade.  He  limited  his  energies  to  working 
the  underground  passage,  to  the  success  of  which  his  fox-like 
cunning,  and  intimate  knowledge  of  the  passing  shipping,  were 
indispensable.  I  was  preparing  to  follow  the  others  down  the 
ladder  when  Rangsley  touched  my  arm. 

"  I  don't  like  your  company,"  he  said  close  behind  my  ear.  "  I 
know  who  they  are.  There  were  bills  out  for  them  this  morning. 
I'd  blow  them,  and  take  the  reward,  but  for  you  and  Squahre 
Rooksby.  They're  handy  with  their  knives,  too,  I  fancy.  You 
mind  me,  and  look  to  yourself  with  them.  There's  something 
unnatural." 

His  words  had  a  certain  effect  upon  me,  and  his  manner  perhaps 


PART  FIRST  23 

more.  A  thing  that  was  "  unnatural  "  to  Jack  Rangsley — the  man 
of  darkness,  who  lived  forever  as  if  in  the  shadow  of  the  gallows — 
was  a  thing  to  be  avoided.  He  was  for  me  nearly  as  romantic  a 
figure  as  Carlos  himself,  but  for  his  forbidding  darkness,  and  he 
was  a  person  of  immense  power.  The  silent  flittings  of  lights  that 
I  had  just  seen,  the  answering  signals  from  the  luggers  far  out  to 
sea,  the  enforced  sleep  of  the  towns  and  countryside  whilst  his 
plans  were  working  out  at  night,  had  impressed  me  with  a  sense 
of  awe.  And  his  words  sank  into  my  spirit,  and  made  me  afraid 
for  my  future. 

We  followed  the  others  downwards  into  a  ground-floor  room 
that  was  fitted  up  as  a  barber's  shop.  A  rushlight  was  burning  on 
a  table.  Rangsley  took  hold  of  a  piece  of  wainscoting,  part  of  the 
frame  of  a  panel;  he  pulled  it  towards  him,  and,  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, a  glazed  show-case  full  of  razors  and  brushes  swung  noise- 
lessly forward  with  an  effect  of  the  supernatural.  A  small  open- 
ing, just  big  enough  to  take  a  man's  body,  revealed  itself.  We 
passed  through  it  and  up  a  sort  of  tunnel.  The  door  at  the  other 
end,  which  was  formed  of  panels,  had  a  manger  and  straw  crib 
attached  to  it  on  the  outside,  and  let  us  into  a  horse's  stall.  We 
found  ourselves  in  the  stable  of  the  inn. 

"  We  don't  use  this  passage  for  ourselves,"  Rangsley  said. 
"  Only  the  most  looked  up  to  need  to — the  justices  and  such  like. 
But  gallus  birds  like  you  and  your  company,  it's  best  for  us  not 
to  be  seen  in  company  with.  Follow  my  uncle  now.  Good- 
night." 

We  went  into  the  yard,  under  the  pillars  of  the  town  hall,  across 
the  silent  street,  through  a  narrow  passage,  and  down  to  the  sea. 
Old  Rangsley  reeled  ahead  of  us  swiftly,  muttering,  "  Three  men 
to  be  set  aboard  of  the  Thames  .  .  .  quarter  past  eleven.  Three 
men  to  be  set  aboard  .  .  ."  and  in  a  few  minutes  we  stood  upon 
the  shingle  beside  the  idle  sea,  that  was  nearly  at  the  full. 


CHAPTER  IV 

IT  was,  I  suppose,  what  I  demanded  of  Fate — to  be  gently 
wafted  into  the  position  of  a  hero  of  romance,  without  rough 
hands  at  my  throat.  It  is  what  we  all  ask,  I  suppose;  and  we 
get  it  sometimes  in  ten-minute  snatches.  I  didn't  know  where 
I  was  going.  It  was  enough  for  me  to  sail  in  and  out  of  the 
patches  of  shadow  that  fell  from  the  moon  right  above  our  heads. 
We  embarked,  and,  as  we  drew  further  out,  the  land  turned 
to  a  shadow,  spotted  here  and  there  with  little  lights.  Behind  us 
a  cock  crowed.  The  shingle  crashed  at  intervals  beneath  the  feet 
of  a  large  body  of  men.  I  remembered  the  smugglers ;  but  it  was 
as  if  I  had  remembered  them  only  to  forget  them  forever.  Old 
Rangsley,  who  steered  with  the  sheet  in  his  hand,  kept  up  an  un- 
intelligible babble.  Carlos  and  Castro  talked  under  their  breaths. 
Along  the  gunwale  there  was  a  constant  ripple  and  gurgle.  Sud- 
denly old  Rangsley  began  to  sing;  his  voice  was  hoarse  and 
drunken. 

"  When  Harol'  war  inva — a — ded, 
An'  fallin',  lost  his  crownd, 
An'  Normun  Willium  wa — a — ded." 

The  water  murmured  without  a  pause,  as  if  it  had  a  million 
tiny  facts  to  communicate  in  very  little  time.  And  then  old 
Rangsley  hove  to,  to  wait  for  the  ship,  and  sat  half  asleep,  lurching 
over  the  tiller.  He  was  a  very  unreliable  scoundrel.  The  boat 
leaked  like  a  sieve.  The  wind  freshened,  and  we  three  began  to 
ask  ourselves  how  it  was  going  to  end.  There  were  no  lights  upon 
the  sea. 

At  last,  well  out,  a  blue  gleam  caught  our  eyes ;  but  by  this  time 
old  Rangsley  was  helpless,  and  it  fell  to  me  to  manage  the  boat. 
Carlos  was  of  no  use — he  knew  it,  and,  without  saying  a  word, 
busied  himself  in  bailing  the  water  out.  But  Castro,  I  was  sur- 
prised to  notice,  knew  more  than  I  did  about  a  boat,  and,  maimed 
as  he  was,  made  himself  useful. 

24 


PART  FIRST  25 

"  To  me  it  looks  as  if  we  should  drown,"  Carlos  said  at  one 
point,  very  quietly.    "  I  am  sorry  for  you,  Juan." 

"  And  for  yourself,  too,"  I  answered,  feeling  very  hopeless,  and 
with  a  dogged  grimness. 

"  Just  now,  my  young  cousin,  I  feel  as  if  I  should  not  mind 
dying  under  the  water,"  he  remarked  with  a  sigh,  but  without 
ceasing  to  bail  for  a  moment. 

"  Ah,  you  are  sorry  to  be  leaving  home,  and  your  friends,  and 
Spain,  and  your  fine  adventures,"  I  answered. 

The  blue  flare  showed  a  very  little  nearer.  There  was  nothing 
to  be  done  but  talk  and  wait. 

"No;  England,"  he  answered  in  a  tone  full  of  meaning — 
**  things  in  England — people  there.    One  person  at  least." 

To  me  his  words  and  his  smile  seemed  to  imply  a  bitter  irony; 
but  they  were  said  very  earnestly. 

Castro  had  hauled  the  helpless  form  of  old  Rangsley  forward. 
I  caught  him  muttering  savagely: 

"I  could  kill  that  old  man!" 

He  did  not  want  to  be  drowned;  neither  assuredly  did  I.  But 
it  was  not  fear  so  much  as  a  feeling  of  dreariness  and  disappoint- 
ment that  had  come  over  me,  the  sudden  feeling  that  I  was  going 
not  to  adventure,  but  to  death ;  that  here  was  not  romance,  but  an 
end — a  disenchanted  surprise  that  it  should  so  soon  be  all  over. 

We  kept  a  grim  silence.  Further  out  in  the  bay,  we  were  caught 
in  a  heavy  squall.  Sitting  by  the  tiller,  I  got  as  much  out  of  her  as 
I  knew  how.  We  would  go  as  far  as  we  could  before  the  run  was 
over.  Carlos  bailed  unceasingly,  and  without  a  word  of  complaint, 
sticking  to  his  self-appointed  task  as  if  in  very  truth  he  were  care- 
less of  life.  A  feeling  came  over  me  that  this,  indeed,  was  the 
elevated  and  the  romantic.  Perhaps  he  was  tired  of  his  life;  per- 
haps he  really  regretted  what  he  left  behind  him  in  England,  or 
somewhere  else — some  association,  some  woman.  But  he,  at  least, 
if  we  went  dov»^n  together,  would  go  gallantly,  and  without  com- 
plaint, at  the  end  of  a  life  with  associations,  movements,  having 
lived  and  regretted.  I  should  disappear  ingloriously  on  the  very 
threshold. 

Castro,  standing  up  unsteadily,  growled,  "  We  may  do  it  yet! 
See,  senor !  " 


26  ROMANCE 

The  blue  gleam  was  much  larger — It  flared  smokily  right  up 
towards  the  sky.  I  made  out  ghastly  parallelograms  of  a  ship's 
sails  high  above  us,  and  at  last  many  faces  peering  unseeingly  over 
the  rail  in  our  direction.    We  all  shouted  together. 

I  may  say  that  it  was  thanks  to  me  that  we  reached  the  ship. 
Our  boat  went  down  under  us  whilst  I  was  tying  a  rope  under 
Carlos'  arms.  He  was  standing  up  with  the  bailer  still  in  his  hand. 
On  board,  the  women  passengers  were  screaming,  and  as  I  clung 
desperately  to  the  rope  that  was  thrown  me,  it  struck  me  oddly 
that  I  had  never  before  heard  so  many  women's  voices  at  the  same 
time.  Afterwards,  when  I  stood  on  the  deck,  they  began  laughing 
at  old  Rangsley,  who  held  forth  in  a  thunderous  voice,  punctuated 
by  hiccoughs: 

"  They  carried  I  aboord — a-cop — theer  lugger  and  sinks  I  in  the 
cold,  CO — old  sea." 

It  mortified  me  excessively  that  I  should  be  tacked  to  his  tail 
and  exhibited  to  a  number  of  people,  and  I  had  a  sudden  conviction 
of  my  small  importance.  I  had  expected  something  altogether 
different — an  audience  sympathetically  interested  in  my  desire  for 
a  passage  to  the  West  Indies;  instead  of  which  people  laughed 
while  I  spoke  in  panting  jerks,  and  the  water  dripped  out  of  my 
clothes.  After  I  had  made  it  clear  that  I  wanted  to  go  with 
Carlos,  and  could  pay  for  my  passage,  I  was  handed  down  into  the 
steerage,  where  a  tallow  candle  burnt  in  a  thick,  blue  atmosphere. 
I  was  stripped  and  filled  with  some  fiery  liquid,  and  fell  asleep. 
Old  Rangsley  was  sent  ashore  with  the  pilot. 

It  was  a  new  and  strange  life  to  me,  opening  there  suddenly 
enough.  The  Thames  was  one  of  the  usual  West  Indiamen;  but 
to  me  even  the  very  ropes  and  spars,  the  sea,  and  the  unbroken 
dome  of  the  sky,  had  a  rich  strangeness.  Time  passed  lazily  and 
gliding.  I  made  more  fully  the  acquaintance  of  my  companions, 
but  seemed  to  know  them  no  better.  I  lived  with  Carlos  in  the 
cabin — Castro  in  the  half-deck;  but  we  were  all  three  pretty  con- 
stantly together,  and  they  being  the  only  Spaniards  on  board,  we 
were  more  or  less  isolated  from  the  other  passengers. 

Looking  at  my  companions  at  times,  I  had  vague  misgivings. 
It  was  as  if  these  two  had  fascinated  me  to  the  verge  of  some 
danger.    Sometimes  Castro,  looking  up,  uttered  vague  ejaculations. 


PART  FIRST  27 

Carlos  pushed  his  hat  back  and  sighed.  They  had  preoccupations, 
cares,  interests  in  which  they  let  me  have  no  part. 

Castro  struck  me  as  absolutely  ruffianly.  His  head  was  knotted 
in  a  red,  white-spotted  handkerchief;  his  grizzled  beard  was 
tangled ;  he  wore  a  black  and  rusty  cloak,  ragged  at  the  edges,  and 
his  feet  were  often  bare;  at  his  side  would  lie  his  wooden  right 
hand.  As  a  rule,  the  place  of  his  forearm  was  taken  by  a  long, 
thin,  steel  blade,  that  he  was  forever  sharpening. 

Carlos  talked  with  me,  telling  me  about  his  former  life  and  his 
adventures.  The  other  passengers  he  discountenanced  by  a  certain 
coldness  of  manner  that  made  me  ashamed  of  talking  to  them.  I 
respected  him  so ;  he  was  so  wonderful  to  me  then.  Castro  I  de- 
tested ;  but  I  accepted  their  relationship  without  in  the  least  under- 
standing how  Carlos,  with  his  fine  grain,  his  high  soul — I  gave 
him  credit  for  a  high  soul — could  put  up  with  the  squalid  ferocity 
with  which  I  credited  Castro.  It  seemed  to  hang  in  the  air  round 
the  grotesque  raggedness  of  the  saturnine  brown  man. 

Carlos  had  made  Spain  too  hot  to  hold  him  in  those  tortuous 
intrigues  of  the  Army  of  the  Faith  and  Bourbon  troops  and  Italian 
legions.  From  what  I  could  understand,  he  must  have  played  fast 
and  loose  in  an  insolent  manner.  And  there  was  some  woman 
offended.  There  was  a  gayness  and  gallantry  in  that  part  of  it. 
He  had  known  the  very  spirit  of  romance,  and  now  he  was  sailing 
gallantly  out  to  take  up  his  inheritance  from  an  uncle  who  was 
a  great  noble,  owning  the  greater  part  of  one  of  the  Intendencias 
of  Cuba. 

"  He  is  a  very  old  man,  I  hear,"  Carlos  said — "  a  little  doting, 
and  having  need  of  me." 

There  were  all  the  elements  of  romance  about  Carlos'  story — 
except  the  actual  discomforts  of  the  ship  in  which  we  were  sailing. 
He  himself  had  never  been  in  Cuba  or  seen  his  uncle ;  but  he  had, 
as  I  have  indicated,  ruined  himself  in  one  way  or  another  in  Spain, 
and  it  had  come  as  a  God-send  to  him  when  his  uncle  had  sent 
Tomas  Castro  to  bring  him  to  Cuba,  to  the  town  of  Rio  Medio. 

"The  town  belongs  to  my  uncle.  He  is  very  rich;  a  Grand 
d'Espagne  .  .  .  everything;  but  he  is  now  very  old,  and  has  left 
Havana  to  die  in  his  palace  in  his  own  town.  He  has  an  only 
daughter,  a  Doiia  Seraphina,  and  I  suppose  that  if  I  find  favor  in 


28  ROMANCE 

his  eyes  I  shall  marry  her,  and  inherit  my  uncle's  great  riches;  I 
am  the  only  one  that  is  left  of  the  family  to  inherit."  He  waved 
his  hand  and  smiled  a  little.  "  l^aya;  a  little  of  that  great  wealth 
would  be  welcome.  If  I  had  had  a  few  pence  more  there  would 
have  been  none  of  this  worry,  and  I  should  not  have  been  on  this 
dirty  ship  in  these  rags."  He  looked  down  good-humoredly  at  his 
clothes. 

"  But,"  I  said,  "  how  do  you  come  to  be  in  a  scrape  at  all?  " 

He  laughed  a  little  proudly. 

"  In  a  scrape?  "  he  said.  "  I  ...  I  am  in  none.  It  is  Tomas 
Castro  there."  He  laughed  affectionately.  "  He  is  as  faithful  as 
he  is  ugly,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  fear  he  has  been  a  villain,  too.  .  .  . 
What  do  I  know  ?  Over  there  in  my  uncle's  town,  there  are  some 
villains — you  know  what  I  mean,  one  must  not  speak  too  loudly 
on  this  ship.  There  is  a  man  called  O'Brien,  who  mismanages  my 
uncle's  affairs.  What  do  I  know?  The  good  Tomas  has  been  in 
some  villainy  that  is  no  affair  of  mine.  He  is  a  good  friend  and 
a  faithful  dependent  of  my  family's.  He  certainly  had  that  man's 
watch — the  man  we  met  by  evil  chance  at  Liverpool,  a  man  who 
came  from  Jamaica.  He  had  bought  it — of  a  bad  man,  perhaps, 
I  do  not  ask.  It  was  Castro  your  police  wished  to  take.  But  I, 
ban  Dieu,  do  you  think  I  would  take  watches?" 

I  certainly  did  not  think  he  had  taken  a  watch;  but  I  did  not 
relinquish  the  idea  that  he,  in  a  glamorous,  romantic  way,  had  been 
a  pirate.    Rooksby  had  certainly  hinted  as  much  in  his  irritation. 

He  lost  none  of  his  romantic  charm  in  my  eyes.  The  fact  that 
he  was  sailing  in  uncomfortable  circumstances  detracted  little ;  nor 
did  his  clothes,  which,  at  the  worst,  were  better  than  any  I  had  ever 
had.  And  he  wore  them  with  an  air  and  a  grace.  He  had  prob- 
ably been  in  worse  circumstances  when  campaigning  with  the 
Army  of  the  Faith  in  Spain.  And  there  was  certainly  the  uncle 
with  the  romantic  title  and  the  great  inheritance,  and  the  cousin — 
the  Miss  Seraphina,  whom  he  would  probably  marry.  I  imagined 
him  an  aristocratic  scapegrace,  a  corsair — it  was  the  Byronic  period 
then — sailing  out  to  marry  a  sort  of  shimmering  princess  with  hair 
like  Veronica's,  bright  golden,  and  a  face  like  that  of  a  certain 
keeper's  daughter.  Carlos,  however,  knew  nothing  about  his 
cousin;  he  cared  little  more,  as  far  as  I  could  tell.     "What  can 


PART  FIRST  29 

she  be  to  me  since  I  have  seen  your  .  .  .  ?  "  he  said  once,  and  then 
stopped,  looking  at  me  with  a  certain  tender  irony.  He  insisted, 
though,  that  his  aged  uncle  was  in  need  of  him.  As  for  Castro — 
he  and  his  rags  came  out  of  a  life  of  sturt  and  strife,  and  I  hoped 
he  might  die  by  treachery.  He  had  undoubtedly  been  sent  by  the 
uncle  across  the  seas  to  find  Carlos  and  bring  him  out  of  Europe; 
there  was  something  romantic  in  that  mission.  He  was  now  a 
dependent  of  the  Riego  family,  but  there  were  unfathomable  depths 
in  that  tubby  little  man's  past.  That  he  had  gone  to  Russia  at  the 
tail  of  the  Grande  Armee,  one  could  not  help  believing.  He  had 
been  most  likely  in  the  grand  army  of  sutlers  and  camp-followers. 
He  could  talk  convincingly  of  the  cold,  and  of  the  snows  and  his 
escape.  And  from  his  allusions  one  could  get  glimpses  of  what  he 
had  been  before  and  afterwards — apparently  everything  that  was 
questionable  in  a  secularly  disturbed  Europe;  no  doubt  somewhat 
of  a  bandit ;  a  guerrilero  in  the  sixes  and  sevens ;  with  the  Army  of 
the  Faith  near  the  French  border,  later  on.  There  had  been  room 
and  to  spare  for  that  sort  of  pike,  in  the  muddy  waters,  during  the 
first  years  of  the  century.  But  the  waters  were  clearing,  and  now 
the  good  Castro  had  been  dodging  the  gallows  in  the  Antilles  or  in 
Mexico.  In  his  heroic  moods  he  would  swear  that  his  arm  had 
been  cut  off  at  Somo  Sierra;  swear  it  with  a  great  deal  of  assevera- 
tion, making  one  see  the  Polish  lancers  charging  the  gunners,  being 
cut  down,  and  his  own  sword  arm  falling  suddenly. 

Carlos,  however,  used  to  declare  with  affectionate  cynicism  that 
the  arm  had  been  broken  by  the  cudgel  of  a  Polish  peasant  while 
Castro  was  trying  to  filch  a  pig  from  a  stable.  ...  "I  cut  his 
throat  out,  though,"  Castro  would  grumble  darkly;  "  so,  like  that, 
and  it  matters  very  little — it  is  even  an  improvement.  See,  I  put 
on  my  blade.  See,  I  transfix  you  that  fly  there.  .  .  .  See  how 
astonished  he  was.  He  did  never  expect  that."  He  had  actually 
impaled  a  crawling  cockroach.  He  spent  his  days  cooking  extraor- 
dinary messes,  crouching  for  hours  over  a  little  charcoal  brazier 
that  he  lit  surreptitiously  in  the  back  of  his  bunk,  making  substi- 
tutes for  eternal  gaspachos. 

All  these  things,  if  they  deepened  the  romance  of  Carlos'  career, 
enhanced,  also,  the  mystery.  I  asked  him  one  day,  "  But  why  do 
you  go  to  Jamaica  at  all  if  you  are  bound  for  Cuba?  " 


30  ROMANCE 

He  looked  at  me,  smiling  a  little  mournfully. 

"  Ah,  Juan  mio,"  he  said,  "  Spain  is  not  like  your  England, 
unchanging  and  stable.  The  party  who  reign  to-day  do  not  love 
me,  and  they  are  masters  in  Cuba  as  in  Spain.  But  in  his  province 
my  uncle  rules  alone.  There  I  shall  be  safe."  He  w^as  condescend- 
ing to  roll  some  cigarettes  for  Tomas,  w^hose  w^ooden  hand  in- 
commoded him,  and  he  tossed  a  fragment  of  tobacco  to  the  wind 
with  a  laugh.  "  In  Jamaica  there  is  a  merchant,  a  Seiior  Ramon ; 
I  have  letters  to  him,  and  he  shall  find  me  a  conveyance  to  Rio 
Medio,  my  uncle's  town.    He  is  an  afiliado." 

He  laughed  again.    "  It  is  not  easy  to  enter  that  place,  Juanino." 

There  was  certainly  some  mystery  about  that  town  of  his 
uncle's.     One  night  I  overheard  him  say  to  Castro: 

"  Tell  me,  O  my  Tomas,  would  it  be  safe  to  take  this  cabal- 
lero,  my  cousin,  to  Rio  Medio?  " 

Castro  paused,  and  then  murmured  gruffly: 

"  Senor,  unless  that  Irishman  is  consulted  beforehand,  or  the 
English  lord  would  undertake  to  join  with  the  picaroons,  it  is  very 
assuredly  not  safe." 

Carlos  made  a  little  exclamation  of  mild  astonishment. 

"  Pero?    Is  it  so  bad  as  that  in  my  uncle's  own  town?  " 

Tomas  muttered  something  that  I  did  not  catch,  and  then : 

"  If  the  English  caballero  committed  indiscretions,  or  quarreled 
— and  all  these  people  quarrel,  why,  God  knows — that  Irish  devil 
could  hang  many  persons,  even  myself,  or  take  vengeance  on  your 
worship." 

Carlos  was  silent  as  if  in  a  reverie.    At  last  he  said : 

"  But  if  affairs  are  like  this,  it  would  be  well  to  have  one  more 
with  us.  The  caballero,  my  cousin,  is  very  strong  and  of  great 
courage." 

Castro  grunted,  "  Oh,  of  a  courage!  But  as  the  proverb  says, 
'  If  you  set  an  Englishman  by  a  hornets'  nest  they  shall  not  remain 
long  within.'  " 

After  that  I  avoided  any  allusion  to  Cuba,  because  the  thing, 
think  as  I  vv^ould  about  it,  would  not  grow  clear.  It  was  plain 
that  something  illegal  was  going  on  there,  or  how  could  "  that 
Irish  devil,"  whoever  he  was,  have  power  to  hang  Tomas  and  be 
revenged  on  Carlos?    It  did  not  affect  my  love  for  Carlos,  though, 


PART  FIRST  31 

in  the  weariness  of  this  mystery,  the  passage  seemed  to  drag  a  little. 
And  it  was  obvious  enough  that  Carlos  was  unwilling  or  unable  to 
tell  anything  about  what  preoccupied  him. 

I  had  noticed  an  intimacy  spring  up  between  the  ship's  second 
mate  and  Tomas,  who  was,  it  seemed  to  me,  forever  engaged  in  long 
confabulations  in  the  man's  cabin,  and,  as  much  to  make  talk  as 
for  any  other  reason,  I  asked  Carlos  if  he  had  noticed  his  depend- 
ent's familiarity.  It  was  noticeable  because  Castro  held  aloof  from 
every  other  soul  on  board.  Carlos  answered  me  with  one  of  his 
nervous  and  angry  smiles. 

"Ah,  Juan  mine,  do  not  ask  too  many  questions!  I  wish  you 
could  come  with  me  all  the  way,  but  I  cannot  tell  you  all  I  know. 
I  do  not  even  myself  know  all.  It  seems  that  the  man  is  going 
to  leave  the  ship  in  Jamaica,  and  has  letters  for  that  Serior 
Ramon,  the  merchant,  even  as  I  have.  Faya;  more  I  cannot 
tell  you." 

This  struck  me  as  curious,  and  a  little  of  the  whole  mystery 
seemed  from  that  time  to  attach  to  the  second  mate,  who  before 
had  been  no  more  to  me  than  a  long,  sallow  Nova  Scotian,  with  a 
disagreeable  intonation  and  rather  offensive  manners.  I  began 
to  watch  him,  desultorily,  and  was  rather  startled  by  something 
more  than  a  suspicion  that  he  himself  was  watching  me.  On  one 
occasion  in  particular  I  seemed  to  observe  this.  The  second  mate 
was  lankily  stalking  the  deck,  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  As  he 
paused  in  his  walk  to  spit  into  the  sea  beside  me,  Carlos  said : 

"  And  you,  my  Juan,  what  will  j'ou  do  in  this  Jamaica?  " 

The  sense  that  we  were  approaching  land  was  already  all  over 
the  ship.  The  second  mate  leered  at  me  enigmatically,  and  moved 
slowly  away.  I  said  that  I  was  going  to  the  Horton  Estates, 
Rooksby's,  to  learn  planting  under  a  Mr.  Macdonald,  the  agent. 
Carlos  shrugged  his  shoulders.  I  suppose  I  had  spoken  with  some 
animation. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  with  his  air  of  great  wisdom  and  varied  experi- 
ence, of  disillusionment,  "  it  will  be  much  the  same  as  it  has  been 
at  your  home — after  the  first  days.  Hard  work  and  a  great  same- 
ness."    He  began  to  cough  violently. 

I  said  bitterly  enough,  "  Yes.  It  will  be  always  the  same  with 
me.     I  shall  never  see  life.    You've  seen  all  that  there  is  to  see,  so 


32  ROMANCE 

I  suppose  you  do  not  mind  settling  down  with  an  old  uncle  in  a 
palace." 

He  answered  suddenly,  with  a  certain  darkness  of  manner, 
"  That  is  as  God  wills.  Who  knows?  Perhaps  life,  even  in  my 
uncle's  palace,  will  not  be  so  safe." 

The  second  mate  was  bearing  down  on  us  again. 

I  said  jocularly,  "  Why,  when  I  get  very  tired  of  life  at  Horton 
Pen,  I  shall  come  to  see  you  in  your  uncle's  town." 

Carlos  had  another  of  his  fits  of  coughing. 

"  After  all,  we  are  kinsmen.  I  dare  say  you  would  give  me  a 
bed,"  I  went  on. 

The  second  mate  was  quite  close  to  us  then. 

Carlos  looked  at  me  with  an  expression  of  affection  that  a  little 
shamed  my  lightness  of  tone: 

"  I  love  you  much  more  than  a  kinsman,  Juan,"  he  said.  "  I 
wish  you  could  come  with  me.  I  try  to  arrange  it.  Later,  per- 
haps, I  may  be  dead.    I  am  very  ill." 

He  was  undoubtedly  ill.  Campaigning  in  Spain,  exposure  in 
England  in  a  rainy  time,  and  then  the  ducking  when  we  came 
on  board,  had  done  him  no  good.  He  looked  moodily  at  the 
sea. 

"  I  wish  you  could  come.    I  will  try " 

The  mate  had  paused,  and  was  listening  quite  unaffectedly,  be- 
hind Carlos'  back. 

A  moment  after  Carlos  half  turned  and  regarded  him  with  a 
haughty  stare. 

He  whistled  and  walked,  away. 

Carlos  muttered  something  that  I  did  not  catch  about  "  spies  of 
that  pestilent  Irishman."    Then : 

"  I  will  not  selfishly  take  you  into  any  more  dangers,"  he  said. 
"  But  life  on  a  sugar  plantation  is  not  fit  for  you." 

I  felt  glad  and  flattered  that  a  personage  so  romantic  should 
deem  me  a  fit  companion  for  himself.  He  went  forward  as  if  with 
some  purpose. 

Some  days  afterwards  the  second  mate  sent  for  me  to  his  cabin. 
He  had  been  on  the  sick  list,  and  he  was  lying  in  his  bunk,  stripped 
to'  the  waist,  one  arm  and  one  leg  touching  the  floor.  He  raised 
himself  slowly  when  I  came  in,  and  spat.    He  had  in  a  pronounced 


PART  FIRST  33 

degree  the  Nova  Scotian  peculiarities  and  accent,  and  after  he  had 
shaved,  his  face  shone  like  polished  leather. 

"  Hallo!  "  he  said.  "  See  heeyur,  young  Kemp,  does  your  neck 
just  itch  to  be  stretched  ?  " 

I  looked  at  him  with  mouth  and  ej^es  agape. 

He  spat  again,  and  w^aved  a  claw  towards  the  forward  bulk- 
head. 

*'  They'll  do  it  for  yeh,"  he  said.  "  You're  such  a  green  goose, 
it  makes  me  sick  a  bit.  You  hevn't  reckoned  out  the  chances,  not 
quite.  It's  a  kind  of  dead  reckoning  yeh  hevn't  had  call  to  make. 
Eh?" 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  I  asked,  bewildered. 

He  looked  at  me,  grinning,  half  naked,  with  amused  contempt, 
for  quite  a  long  time,  and  at  last  offered  sardonically  to  open  my 
eyes  for  me. 

I  said  nothing. 

"  Do  you  know  what  will  happen  to  you,"  he  asked,  "  ef  yeh 
don't  get  quit  of  that  Carlos  of  yours?  " 

I  was  surprised  into  muttering  that  I  didn't  know. 

"  I  can  tell  yeh,"  he  continued.    "  Yeh  will  get  hanged." 

By  that  time  I  was  too  amazed  to  get  angry.  I  simply  suspected 
the  Blue  Nose  of  being  drunk.  But  he  glared  at  me  so  soberly 
that  next  moment  I  felt  frightened. 

"  Hanged  by  the  neck,"  he  repeated ;  and  then  added,  "  Young 
fellow,  you  scoot.  Take  a  fool's  advice,  and  scoot.  That  Castro 
is  a  blame  fool,  anyhow.  Yeh  want  men  for  that  job.  Men,  I 
tell  you."     He  slapped  his  bony  breast. 

I  had  no  idea  that  he  could  look  so  ferocious.  His  eyes  fasci- 
nated me,  and  he  opened  his  cavernous  mouth  as  if  to  swallow  me. 
His  lantern  jaws  snapped  without  a  sound.  He  seemed  to  change 
his  mind. 

"  I  am  done  with  yeh,"  he  said,  with  a  sort  of  sinister  restraint. 
He  rose  to  his  feet,  and,  turning  his  back  to  me,  began  to  shave, 
squinting  into  a  broken  looking-glass. 

I  had  not  the  slightest  inkling  of  his  meaning.  I  only  knew  that 
going  out  of  his  berth  was  like  escaping  from  the  dark  lair  of  a 
beast  into  a  sunlTt  world.  There  is  no  denying  that  his  words,  and 
still  more  his  manner,  had  awakened  in  me  a  sense  of  insecurity 


34  ROMANCE 

that  had  no  precise  object,  for  it  was  manifestly  absurd  and  im- 
possible to  suspect  my  friend  Carlos.  Moreover,  hanging  was  a 
danger  so  recondite,  and  an  eventuality  so  extravagant,  as  to  make 
the  whole  thing  ridiculous.  And  yet  I  remembered  how  unhappy 
I  felt,  how  inexplicably  unhappy.  Presently  the  reason  was  made 
clear.  I  was  homesick.  I  gave  no  further  thought  to  the  second 
mate.  I  looked  at  the  harbor  we  were  entering,  and  thought  of 
the  home  I  had  left  so  eagerly.  After  all,  I  was  no  more  than  a 
boy,  and  even  younger  in  mind  than  in  body. 

Queer-looking  boats  crawled  between  the  shores  like  tiny  water 
beetles.  One  headed  out  towards  us,  then  another.  I  did  not  want 
them  to  reach  us.  It  was  as  if  I  did  not  wish  my  solitude  to  be 
disturbed,  and  I  was  not  pleased  with  the  idea  of  going  ashore. 
A  great  ship,  floating  high  on  the  water,  black,  and  girt  with  the 
two  broad  yellow  streaks  of  her  double  tier  of  guns,  glided  out 
slowly  from  beyond  a  cluster  of  shipping  in  the  bay.  She  passed 
without  a  hail,  going  out  under  her  topsails  with  a  flag  at  the  fore. 
Her  lofty  spars  overtopped  our  masts  immensely,  and  I  saw  the 
men  in  her  rigging  looking  down  on  our  decks.  The  only  sounds 
that  came  out  of  her  were  the  piping  of  boatswains'  calls  and  the 
tramping  of  feet.  Imagining  her  to  be  going  home,  I  felt  a  great 
desire  to  be  on  board.  Ultimately,  as  it  turned  out,  I  went  home 
in  that  very  ship,  but  then  it  was  too  late.  I  was  another  man  by 
that  time,  with  much  queer  knowledge  and  other  desires.  Whilst 
I  was  looking  and  longing  I  heard  Carlos'  voice  behind  me  asking 
one  of  our  sailors  what  ship  it  was. 

"  Don't  you  know  a  flagship  when  you  see  it?  "  a  voice  grumbled 
surlily.  "  Admiral  Rowley's,"  it  continued.  Then  it  rumbled 
out  some  remarks  about  "  pirates,  vermin,  coast  of  Cuba." 

Carlos  came  to  the  side,  and  looked  after  the  man-of-war  in  the 
distance. 

"  You  could  help  us,"  I  heard  him  mutter. 


"  Take  a  fool's  advice^  and  scoot  " 


CHAPTER  V 

THERE  was  a  lad  called  Barnes,  a  steerage  passenger  of 
about  my  own  age,  a  raw,  red-headed  Northumbrian 
yokel,  going  out  as  a  recruit  to  one  of  the  West  Indian 
regiments.  He  was  a  serious,  strenuous  youth,  and  I  had  talked  a 
little  with  him  at  odd  moments.  In  my  great  loneliness  I  went  to 
say  good-by  to  him  after  I  had  definitely  parted  with  Carlos. 

I  had  been  in  our  cabin.  A  great  bustle  of  shore-going,  of 
leave-taking  had  sprung  up  all  over  the  ship.  Carlos  and  Castro 
had  entered  with  a  tall,  immobile,  gold-spectacled  Spaniard, 
dressed  all  in  white,  and  with  a  certain  air  of  noticing  and  attentive 
deference,  bowing  a  little  as  he  entered  the  cabin  in  earnest  confer- 
ence with  Tomas  Castro.  Carlos  had  preceded  them  with  a 
certain  nonchalance,  and  the  Spaniard — it  was  the  Senor  Ramon, 
the  merchant  I  had  heard  of — regarded  him  as  if  with  interested 
curiosity.  With  Tomas  he  seemed  already  familiar.  He  stood  in 
the  doorway,  against  the  strong  light,  bowing  a  little. 

With  a  certain  courtesy,  touched  with  indifference,  Carlos  made 
him  acquainted  with  me.  Ramon  turned  his  searching,  quietly 
analytic  gaze  upon  me, 

"  But  is  the  caballero  going  over,  too?"  he  asked. 

Carlos  said,  ''  No.     I  think  not,  now." 

And  at  that  moment  the  second  mate,  shouldering  his  way 
through  a  white-clothed  crowd  of  shore  people,  made  up  behind 
Senor  Ramon.     He  held  a  letter  in  his  hand. 

"  /  am.  going  over,"  he  said,  in  his  high  nasal  voice,  and  with  a 
certain  ferocity. 

Ramon  looked  round  apprehensively. 

Carlos  said,  "  The  senor,  my  cousin,  wishes  for  a  Mr.  Mac- 
donald.     You  know  him,  sefior?" 

Ramon  made  a  dry  gesture  of  perfect  acquaintance.  "  I  think 
I  have  seen  him  just  now,"  he  said.     "  I  will  make  inquiries." 

All  three  of  them  had  followed  him,  and  became  lost  in  the 

35 


36  ROMANCE 

crowd.  It  was  then  that,  not  knowing  whether  I  should  ever  see 
Carlos  again,  and  with  a  desperate,  unhappy  feeling  of  loneliness, 
that  I  had  sought  out  Barnes  in  the  dim  immensity  of  the  steer- 
age. 

In  the  square  of  wan  light  that  came  down  the  scuttle  he  was 
cording  his  hair-trunk — unemotional  and  very  matter-of-fact.  He 
began  to  talk  in  an  everyday  voice  about  his  plans.  An  uncle  was 
going  to  meet  him,  and  to  house  him  for  a  day  or  two  before  he 
went  to  the  barracks. 

"  Mebbe  we'll  meet  again,"  he  said.  "  I'll  be  here  many  years, 
I  think." 

He  shouldered  his  trunk  and  climbed  unromantically  up  the 
ladder.    He  said  he  would  look  for  Macdonald  for  me. 

It  was  absurd  to  suppose  that  the  strange  ravings  of  the  second 
mate  had  had  an  effect  on  me.  "Hanged!  Pirates!"  Was  Carlos 
really  a  pirate,  or  Castro,  his  humble  friend?  It  was  vile  of  me 
to  suspect  Carlos.  A  couple  of  men,  meeting  by  the  scuttle,  began 
to  talk  loudly,  every  word  coming  plainly  to  my  ears  in  the  still- 
ness of  my  misery,  and  the  large  deserted  steerage.  One  of  them, 
new  from  home,  was  asking  questions.    Another  answered : 

"  Oh,  I  lost  half  a  seroon  the  last  voyage — the  old  thing." 

"Haven't  they  routed  out  the  scoundrels  yet?"  the  other 
asked. 

The  first  man  lowered  his  voice.  I  caught  only  that  "  the  ad- 
miral was  an  old  fool — no  good  for  this  job.  He's  found  out  the 
name  of  the  place  the  pirates  come  from — Rio  Medio.  That's  the 
place,  only  he  can't  get  iri  at  it  with  his  three-deckers.  You  saw 
his  flagship?  " 

Rio  Medio  was  the  name  of  the  town  to  which  Carlos  was 
going — which  his  uncle  ow^ned.    They  moved  away  from  above. 

What  was  I  to  believe?  What  could  this  mean?  But  the 
second  mate's,  "  Scoot,  young  man,"  seemed  to  come  to  my  ears 
like  the  blast  of  a  trumpet.  I  became  suddenly  intensely  anxious 
to  find  Macdonald — to  see  no  more  of  Carlos. 

From  above  came  suddenly  a  gruff  voice  in  Spanish.  "  Senor, 
it  would  be  a  great  folly." 

Tomas  Castro  was  descending  the  ladder  gingerly.  He  was 
coming   to   fetch   his   bundle.      I   went  hastily  into   the   distance 


PART  FIRST  37 

of  the  vast,  dim  cavern  of  spare  room  that  served  for  the 
steerage. 

"  I  w^ant  him  very  much,"  Carlos  said.  "  I  like  him.  He 
would  be  of  help  to  us." 

"  It's  as  your  worship  wills,"  Castro  said  gruffly.  They  were 
both  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder.  "  But  an  Englishman  there 
would  work  great  mischief.    And  this  youth " 

"  I  will  take  him,  Tomas,"  Carlos  said,  laying  a  hand  on  his 
arm. 

"  Those  others  will  think  he  is  a  spy.  I  know  them,"  Castro 
muttered.  "  They  will  hang  him,  or  work  some  devil's  mischief. 
You  do  not  know  that  Irish  judge — the  canaille,  the  friend  of 
priests." 

"  He  is  very  brave.    He  will  not  fear,"  Carlos  said. 

I  came  suddenly  forward.  "  I  will  not  go  with  you,"  I  said, 
before  I  had  reached  them  even. 

Castro  started  back  as  if  he  had  been  stung,  and  caught  at  the 
wooden  hand  that  sheathed  his  steel  blade. 

"  Ah,  it  is  you,  sefior,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  relief  and  dislike. 
Carlos,  softly  and  very  affectionately,  began  inviting  me  to  go  to 
his  uncle's  town.  His  uncle,  he  was  sure,  would  welcome  me. 
Jamaica  and  a  planter's  life  were  not  fit  for  me. 

I  had  not  then  spoken  very  loudly,  or  had  not  made  my  meaning 
very  clear.  I  felt  a  great  desire  to  find  Macdonald,  and  a  simple 
life  that  I  could  understand. 

"  I  am  not  going  with  you,"  I  said,  very  loudly  this  time. 

He  stopped  at  once.  Through  the  scuttle  of  the  half-deck  we 
heard  a  hubbub  of  voices,  of  people  exchanging  greetings,  of 
Christian  names  called  out  joyously,  A  tumultuous  shuffling  of 
feet  went  on  continuously  over  our  heads.  The  ship  was  crowded 
with  people  from  the  shore.  Perhaps  Macdonald  was  amongst 
them,  even  looking  for  me. 

"  Ah,  am'igo  mio,  but  you  must  now,"  said  Carlos  gently — "  you 

must "     And,  looking  me  straight  in  the  face  with  a  still, 

penetrating  glance  of  his  big,  romantic  eyes,  "  It  is  a  good  life,"  he 
whispered  seductively,  "  and  I  like  you,  John  Kemp.  You  are 
young — very  young  yet.  But  I  love  you  very  much  for  your  own 
sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  one  I  shall  never  see  again." 


38  ROMANCE 

He  fascinated  me.  He  was  all  eyes  in  the  dusk,  standing  in  a 
languid  pose  just  clear  of  the  shaft  of  light  that  fell  through  the 
scuttle  in  a  square  patch. 

I  lowered  my  voice,  too.    "  What  life?  "  I  asked. 

"  Life  in  my  uncle's  palace,"  he  said,  so  sweetly  and  persuasively 
that  the  suggestiveness  of  it  caused  a  thrill  in  me. 

His  uncle  could  nominate  me  to  posts  of  honor  fit  for  a  cabal- 
lero. 

I  seemed  to  wake  up.  "Your  uncle  the  pirate!  "  I  cried,  and 
was  amazed  at  my  own  words. 

Tomas  Castro  sprang  up,  and  placed  his  rough,  hot  hand  over 
my  lips. 

"Be  quiet,  John  Kemp,  you  fool!"  he  hissed  with  sudden 
energy. 

He  had  spruced  himself,  but  I  seemed  to  see  the  rags  still  flutter 
about  him.  He  had  combed  out  his  beard,  but  I  could  not  forget 
the  knots  that  had  been  in  it. 

"  I  told  your  worship  how  foolish  and  wrong-headed  these 
English  are,"  he  said  sardonically  to  Carlos.  And  then  to  me, 
"  H  the  senor  speaks  loudly  again,  I  shall  kill  him." 

He  was  evidently  very  frightened  of  something. 

Carlos,  silent  as  an  apparition  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  put  a 
finger  to  his  lips  and  glanced  upwards. 

Castro  writhed  his  whole  body,  and  I  stepped  backwards.  "  I 
know  what  Rio  Medio  is,"  I  said,  not  very  loudly.  "  It  is  a  nest 
of  pirates." 

Castro  crept  towards'  me  again  on  the  points  of  his  toes. 
"  Senor  Don  Juan  Kemp,  child  of  the  devil,"  he  hissed,  looking 
very  much  frightened,  "  you  must  die!  " 

I  smiled.  He  was  trembling  all  over.  I  could  hear  the  talking 
and  laughing  that  went  on  under  the  break  of  the  poop.  Two 
women  were  kissing,  with  little  cries,  near  the  hatchway.  I  could 
hear  them  distinctly. 

Tomas  Castro  dropped  his  ragged  cloak  with  a  grandiose 
gesture. 

"  By  my  hand!  "  he  added  with  difficulty. 

He  was  really  very  much  alarmed.  Carlos  was  gazing  up  the 
hatch.     I   was  ready  to  laugh  at  the  idea  of  dying  by  Tomas 


PART  FIRST  39 

Castro's  hand  while,  within  five  feet  of  me,  people  were  laughing 
and  kissing.  I  should  have  laughed  had  I  not  suddenly  felt  his 
hand  on  my  throat.  I  kicked  his  shins  hard,  and  fell  backwards 
over  a  chest.  He  went  back  a  step  or  two,  flourished  his  arm,  beat 
his  chest,  and  turned  furiously  upon  Carlos. 

"  He  will  get  us  murdered,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  think  we  are 
safe  here?  H  these  people  here  heard  that  name  they  wouldn't 
wait  to  ask  who  your  worship  is.  They  would  tear  us  to  pieces 
in  an  instant.  I  tell  you — moij  Tomas  Castro — he  will  ruin  us, 
this  white  fool " 

Carlos  began  to  cough,  shaken  speechless  as  if  by  an  invisible 
devil.  Castro's  eyes  ran  furtively  all  round  him,  then  he  looked 
at  me.  He  made  an  extraordinary  swift  motion  with  his  right 
hand,  and  I  saw  that  he  was  facing  me  with  a  long  steel  blade  dis- 
played. Carlos  continued  to  cough.  The  thing  seemed  odd, 
laughable  still.  Castro  began  to  parade  round  me:  it  was  as  if  he 
were  a  cock  performing  its  saltatory  rites  before  attacking.  There 
was  the  same  tenseness  of  muscle.  He  stepped  with  extraordinary 
care  on  the  points  of  his  toes,  and  came  to  a  stop  about  four  feet 
from  m.e.  I  began  to  wonder  what  Rooksby  would  have  thought 
of  this  sort  of  thing,  to  wonder  why  Castro  himself  found  it  neces- 
sary to  crouch  for  such  a  long  time.  Up  above,  the  hum  of  many 
people,  still  laughing,  still  talking,  faded  a  little  out  of  mind.  I 
understood,  horribly,  how  possible  it  would  be  to  die  within  those 
few  feet  of  them.  Castro's  eyes  were  dusky  yellow,  the  pupils  a 
great  deal  inflated,  the  lines  of  his  mouth  very  hard  and  drawn 
immensely  tight.  It  seemed  extraordinary  that  he  should  put  so 
much  emotion  into  such  a  very  easy  killing.  I  had  my  back  against 
the  bulkhead,  it  felt  very  hard  against  my  shoulder-blades.  I  had 
no  dread,  only  a  sort  of  shrinking  from  the  actual  contact  of  the 
point,  as  one  shrinks  from  being  tickled.  I  opened  my  mouth. 
I  was  going  to  shriek  a  last,  despairing  call,  to  the  light  and 
laughter  of  meetings  above,  when  Carlos,  still  shaken,  with  one 
white  hand  pressed  very  hard  upon  his  chest,  started  forward  and 
gripped  his  hand  round  Castro's  steel.  He  began  to  whisper  in 
the  other's  hairy  ear.     I  caught: 

"  You  are  a  fool.  He  will  not  make  us  to  be  molested,  he  is  my 
kinsman." 


40  ROMANCE 

Castro  made  a  reluctant  gesture  towards  Barnes'  phest  that 
lay  between  us. 

"  We  could  cram  him  into  that,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  bloodthirsty  fool,"  Carlos  answered,  recovering  his  breath; 
"is  it  always  necessary  to  wash  your  hands  in  blood?  Are  we  not 
in  enough  danger  ?    Up — up !    Go  see  if  the  boat  is  yet  there.    We 

must  go  quickly;  up — up "     He  waved  his  hand  towards  the 

scuttle. 

"  But  still,"  Castro  said.  He  was  reluctantly  fitting  his  wooden 
hand  upon  the  blue  steel.  He  sent  a  baleful  yellow  glare  into  my 
eyes,  and  stooped  to  pick  up  his  ragged  cloak. 

"  Up — mount!  "  Carlos  commanded. 

Castro  muttered,  "  Famos,"  and  began  clumsily  to  climb  the 
ladder,  like  a  bale  of  rags  being  hauled  from  above.  Carlos  placed 
his  foot  on  the  steps,  preparing  to  follow  him.  He  turned  his  head 
round  towards  me,  his  hand  extended,  a  smile  upon  his  lips. 

"  Juan,"  he  said,  "  let  us  not  quarrel.  You  are  very  young;  you 
cannot  understand  these  things ;  you  cannot  weigh  them ;  you  have 
a  foolish  idea  in  your  head.  I  wished  you  to  come  with  us  because 
I  love  you,  Juan.  Do  you  think  I  wish  you  evil?  You  are 
true  and  brave,  and  our  families  are  united."  He  sighed  sud- 
denly. 

"  I  do  not  want  to  quarrel!  "  I  said.     "  I  don't." 

I  did  not  want  to  quarrel;  I  wanted  more  to  cry.  I  was  very 
lonely,  and  he  was  going  away.  Romance  w^as  going  out  of  my 
life. 

He  added  musically,  "  You  even  do  not  understand.  There  is 
someone  else  who  speaks  for  you  to  me,  always — someone  else. 
But  one  day  you  will.  I  shall  come  back  for  you — one  day."  He 
looked  at  me  and  smiled.  It  stirred  unknown  depths  of  emotion  in 
me.  I  would  have  gone  with  him,  then,  had  he  asked  me.  "  One 
day,"  he  repeated,  with  an  extraordinary  cadence  of  tone. 

His  hand  was  grasping  mine;  it  thrilled  me  like  a  woman's;  he 
stood  shaking  it  very  gently. 

"  One  day,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  repay  what  I  owe  you.  I  wished 
you  with  me,  because  I  go  into  some  danger.  I  wanted  you. 
Good-bJ^    Hasta  mas  ver." 

He  leaned  over  and  kissed  me  lightly  on  the  cheek,  then  climbed 


I  felt  that  the  light  of  Romance  was  going  out  of  my  life 


PART  FIRST  41 

away.  I  felt  that  the  light  of  Romance  was  going  out  of  my  life. 
As  we  reached  the  top  of  the  ladder,  somebody  began  to  call  harshly, 
startlingly.  I  heard  my  own  name  and  the  words,  "  mahn  ye  were 
speerin'  after." 

The  light  was  obscured,  the  voice  began  clamoring  insistently. 

"  John  Kemp,  Johnnie  Kemp,  noo.  Here's  the  mahn  ye  were 
speerin'  after.     Here's  Macdonald." 

It  was  the  voice  of  Barnes,  and  the  voice  of  the  every  day.  I 
discovered  that  I  had  been  tremendously  upset.  The  pulses  in  my 
temples  were  throbbing,  and  I  wanted  to  shut  my  eyes — to  sleep! 
I  was  tired ;  Romance  had  departed.  Barnes  and  the  Macdonald 
he  had  found  for  me  represented  all  the  laborious  insects  of  the 
world ;  all  the  ants  who  are  forever  hauling  immensely  heavy  and 
immensely  unimportant  burdens  up  weary  hillocks,  down  steep 
places,  getting  nowhere  and  doing  nothing. 

Nevertheless  I  hurried  up,  stumbling  at  the  hatchway  against  a 
man  who  was  looking  down.  He  said  nothing  at  all,  and  I  was 
dazed  by  the  light.  Barnes  remarked  hurriedly,  "  This  '11  be  your 
Mr.  Macdonald  ";  and,  turning  his  back  on  me,  forgot  my  exist- 
ence. I  felt  more  alone  than  ever.  The  man  in  front  of  me  held 
his  head  low,  as  if  he  wished  to  butt  me. 

I  began  breathlessly  to  tell  him  I  had  a  letter  from  "  my — my — 
Rooksby — brother-in-law — Ralph  Rooksby  " — I  w^as  panting  as  if 
I  had  run  a  long  way.  He  said  nothing  at  all.  I  fumbled  for  the 
letter  in  an  inner  pocket  of  my  waistcoat,  and  felt  very  shy.  Mac- 
donald maintained  a  portentous  silence;  his  enormous  body  was 
enveloped  rather  than  clothed  in  a  great  volume  of  ill-fitting  white 
stuff;  he  held  in  his  hand  a  great  umbrella  with  a  vivid  green 
lining.  His  face  was  very  pale,  and  had  the  leaden  transparency 
of  a  boiled  artichoke ;  it  was  fringed  by  a  red  beard  streaked  with 
gray,  as  brown  flood-water  is  with  foam.  I  noticed  at  last  that  the 
reason  for  his  presenting  his  forehead  to  me  was  an  incredible 
squint — a  squint  that  gave  the  idea  that  he  was  performing  some 
tortuous  and  defiant  feat  with  the  muscles  of  his  neck. 

He  maintained  an  air  of  distrustful  inscrutability.  The  hand 
which  took  my  letter  was  very  large,  very  white,  and  looked  as  if 
it  would  feel  horribly  flabby.  With  the  other  he  put  on  his  nose 
a  pair  of  enormous  mother-of-pearl-framed  spectacles — things  ex- 


42  ROMANCE 

actly  like  those  of  a  cobra's — and  began  to  read.  He  had  said  pre- 
cisely nothing  at  all.  It  was  for  him  and  what  he  represented  that 
I  had  thrown  over  Carlos  and  what  he  represented.  I  felt  that  I 
deserved  to  be  received  with  acclamation.  I  was  not.  He  read  the 
letter  very  deliberately,  swaying,  umbrella  and  all,  with  the  slow 
movement  of  a  dozing  elephant.  Once  he  crossed  his  eyes  at  me, 
meditatively,  above  the  mother-of-pearl  rims.  He  was  so  slow,  so 
deliberate,  that  I  own  I  began  to  wonder  whether  Carlos  and 
Castro  were  still  on  board.  It  seemed  to  be  at  least  half  an  hour 
before  Macdonald  cleared  his  throat,  with  a  sound  resembling 
the  coughing  of  a  defective  pump,  and  a  mere  trickle  of  a  voice 
asked : 

"  Hwhat  evidence  have  ye  of  identitee?  " 

I  hadn't  any  at  all,  and  began  to  finger  my  buttonholes  as  shame- 
faced as  a  pauper  before  a  Board.  The  certitude  dawned  upon 
me  suddenly  that  Carlos,  even  if  he  would  consent  to  swear  to  me, 
would  prejudice  my  chances. 

I  cannot  help  thinking  that  I  came  very  near  to  being  cast  adrift 
upon  the  streets  of  Kingston.  To  my  asseverations  Macdonald  re- 
turned nothing  but  a  series  of  minute  "  humphs."  I  don't  know 
what  overcame  his  scruples ;  he  had  shown  no  signs  of  yielding,  but 
suddenly  turning  on  his  heel  made  a  motion  with  one  of  his  flabby 
white  hands.  I  understood  it  to  mean  that  I  was  to  follow  him 
aft. 

The  decks  were  covered  with  a  jabbering  turmoil  of  negroes 
with  muscular  arms  and  brawny  shoulders.  All  their  shining  black 
faces  seemed  to  be  momentarily  gashed  open  to  show  rows  of  white, 
and  were  spotted  with  inlaid  eyeballs.  The  sounds  coming  from 
them  were  a  bewildering  noise.  They  were  hauling  baggage  about 
aimlessly.  A  large  soft  bundle  of  bedding  nearly  took  me  off  my 
legs.  There  wasn't  room  for  emotion.  Macdonald  laid  about  him 
with  the  handle  of  the  umbrella  a  few  inches  from  the  deck;  but 
the  passage  that  he  made  for  himself  closed  behind  him. 

Suddenly,  in  the  pushing  and  hurrying,  I  came  upon  a  little  clear 
space  beside  a  pile  of  boxes.  Stooping  over  them  was  the  angular 
figure  of  Nichols,  the  second  mate.  He  looked  up  at  me,  screwing 
his  yellow  eyes  together. 

"  Going  ashore,"  he  asked,  "  'long  of  that  Puffing  Billy?  " 


PART  FIRST  43 

"  What  business  is  it  of  yours?  "  I  mumbled  sulkily. 
Sudden  and  intense  threatening  came  into  his  yellow  eyes : 
"  Don't  you  ever  come  to  you  know  where,"  he  said;  "  I  don't 
want  no  spies  on  what  I  do.    There's  a  man  there  '11  crack  your 
little  backbone  if  he  catches  you.    Don't  yeh  come  now.    Never." 


PART   SECOND 

THE  GIRL  WITH  THE  LIZARD 
CHAPTER  I 

RIO  MEDIO?  "  Senor  Ramon  said  to  me  nearly  two  years 
afterwards.  "  The  caballero  is  pleased  to  give  me  credit 
_for  a  very  great  knowledge.  What  should  I  know  of  that 
town  ?  There  are  doubtless  good  men  there  and  very  wicked,  as  in 
other  towns.  Who  knows?  Your  worship  must  ask  the  boats' 
crews  that  the  admiral  has  sent  to  burn  the  town.  They  will  be 
back  very  soon  now." 

He  looked  at  me,  inscrutably  and  attentively,  through  his  gold 
spectacles. 

It  was  on  the  arcade  before  his  store  in  Spanish  Town.  Long 
sunblinds  flapped  slightly.  Before  the  next  door  a  large  sign  pro- 
claimed "  Office  of  the  Buckatoro  Journal^  It  was,  as  I  have 
said,  after  two  years — years  w^hich,  as  Carlos  had  predicted,  I  had 
found  to  be  of  hard  work,  and  long,  hot  sameness.  I  had  come 
down  from  Horton  Pen  to  Spanish  Town,  expecting  a  letter  from 
Veronica,  and,  the  stage  not  being  in,  had  dropped  in  to  chat  with 
Ramon  over  a  consignment  of  Yankee  notions,  which  he  was  pre- 
pared to  sell  at  an  extravagantly  cheap  price.  It  was  just  at  the 
time  when  Admiral  Rowley  was  understood  to  be  going  to  make 
an  energetic  attempt  upon  the  pirates  who  still  infested  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico  and  nearly  ruined  the  Jamaica  trade  of  those  days. 
Naturally  enough,  w^e  had  talked  of  the  mysterious  town  in  which 
the  pirates  were  supposed  to  have  their  headquarters. 

"  I  know  no  more  than  others,"  Ramon  said,  "  save,  senor,  that 
I  lose  much  more  because  my  dealings  are  much  greater.  But  I  do 
not  even  know  whether  those  who  take  my  goods  are  pirates,  as 
you  English  say,  or  Mexican  privateers,  as  the  Havana  authorities 
say.     I  do  not  very  much  care.     Basta,  what  I  know  is  that  every 

45 


46  ROMANCE 

week  some  ship  with  a  letter  of  marque  steals  one  of  my  consign- 
ments, and  I  lose  many  hundreds  of  dollars." 

Ramon  was,  indeed,  one  of  the  most  frequented  merchants  in 
Jamaica ;  he  had  stores  in  both  Kingston  and  Spanish  Town ;  his 
cargoes  came  from  all  the  seas.  All  the  planters  and  all  the  official 
class  in  the  island  had  dealings  with  him. 

"  It  was  most  natural  that  the  hidalgo,  your  respected  cousin, 
should  consult  me  if  he  wished  to  go  to  any  town  in  Cuba.  Whom 
else  should  he  go  to?  You  yourself,  sefior,  or  the  excellent  Mr. 
Topnambo,  if  you  desired  to  know  what  ships  in  a  month's  time  are 
likely  to  be  sailing  for  Havana,  for  New  Orleans,  or  any  Gulf  port, 
you  would  ask  me.  What  more  natural?  It  is  my  business,  my 
trade,  to  know  these  things.  In  that  way  I  make  my  bread.  But 
as  for  Rio  Medio,  I  do  not  know  the  place."  He  had  a  touch  of 
irony  in  his  composed  voice.  "  But  it  is  very  certain,"  he  went  on, 
"  that  if  your  Government  had  not  recognized  the  belligerent  rights 
of  the  rebellious  colony  of  Mexico,  there  would  be  now  no  letters 
of  marque,  no  accursed  Mexican  privateers,  and  I  and  every  one 
else  in  the  island  should  not  now  be  losing  thousands  of  dollars 
every  year." 

That  was  the  eternal  grievance  of  every  Spaniard  in  the  island 
— and  of  not  a  few  of  the  English  and  Scotch  planters.  Spain  was 
still  in  the  throes  of  losing  the  Mexican  colonies  when  Great 
Britain  had  acknowledged  the  existence  of  a  state  of  war  and  a 
Mexican  Government.  Mexican  letters  of  marque  had  imme- 
diately filled  the  Gulf.  No  kind  of  shipping  was  safe  from  them, 
and  Spain  was  quite  honestly  powerless  to  prevent  their  swarming 
on  the  coast  of  Cuba — the  Ever  Faithful  Island,  itself. 

"  What  can  Spain  do,"  said  Ramon  bitterly,  "  when  even  your 
Admiral  Rowley,  with  his  great  ships,  cannot  rid  the  sea  of  them?  " 
He'lowered  his  voice.  "  I  tell  you,  young  senor,  that  England  will 
lose  this  Island  of  Jamaica  over  this  business.  You  yourself  are  a 
Separationist,  are  you  not  ?  .  .  .  No  ?  You  live  with  Separation- 
ists.     How  could  I  tell?    Many  people  say  you  are." 

His  words  gave  me  a  distinctly  disagreeable  sensation.  I  hadn't 
any  idea  of  being  a  Separationist;  I  was  loyal  enough.  But  I  un- 
derstood suddenly,  and  for  the  first  time,  how  very  much  like 
one  I  might  look. 


PART  SECOND  47 

"I  myself  am  nothing,"  Ramon  went  on  impassively;  "I  am 
content  that  the  island  should  remain  English.  It  will  never  again 
be  Spanish,  nor  do  I  wish  that  it  should.  But  our  little,  waspish 
friend  there  " — he  lifted  one  thin,  brown  hand  to  the  sign  of  the 
Buckatoro  Journal — "  his  paper  is  doing  much  mischief.  I  think 
the  admiral  or  the  governor  will  commit  him  to  jail.  He  is  going 
to  run  away  and  take  his  paper  to  Kingston ;  I  myself  have  bought 
his  office  furniture." 

I  looked  at  him  and  wondered,  for  all  his  impassivity,  what  he 
knew — what,  in  the  depths  of  his  inscrutable  Spanish  brain,  his 
dark  eyes  concealed. 

He  bowed  to  me  a  little.  "  There  will  come  a  very  great 
trouble,"  he  said. 

Jamaica  was  in  those  days — and  remained  for  many  years  after — ■ 
in  the  throes  of  a  question.  The  question  was,  of  course,  that  of 
the  abolition  of  slavery.  The  planters  as  a  rule  were  immensely 
rich  and  overbearing.  They  said,  "  If  the  Home  Government  tries 
to  abolish  our  slavery  system,  we  will  abolish  the  Home  Govern- 
ment, and  go  to  the  United  States  for  protection."  That  was 
treason,  of  course ;  but  there  was  so  much  of  it  that  the  governor, 
the  Duke  of  Manchester,  had  to  close  his  ears  and  pretend  not  to 
hear.  The  planters  had  another  grievance — the  pirates  in  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico.  There  was  one  in  particular,  a  certain  El  Demonio  or 
Diableto,  who  practically  sealed  the  Florida  passage ;  it  was  hardly 
possible  to  get  a  cargo  underwritten,  and  the  planters'  pockets  felt 
it  a  good  deal.  Practically,  El  Demonio  had,  during  the  last  two 
years,  gutted  a  ship  once  a  week,  as  if  he  wanted  to  help 
the  Kingston  Separationist  papers.  The  planters  said,  "If  the 
Home  Government  wishes  to  meddle  with  our  internal  affairs, 
our  slaves,  let  it  first  clear  our  seas.  .  .  .  Let  it  hang  El 
Demonio,    .    .    „" 

The  Government  had  sent  out  one  of  Nelson's  old  captains,  Ad- 
miral Rowley,  a  good  fighting  man ;  but  when  it  came  to  clearing 
the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  he  was  about  as  useless  as  a  prize-fighter  trying 
to  clear  a  stable  of  rats.  I  don't  suppose  El  Demonio  really  did 
more  than  a  tithe  of  the  mischief  attributed  to  him,  but  in  the 
peculiar  circumstances  he  found  himself  elevated  to  the  rank  of 
an  important  factor  in  colonial  politics.    The  Ministerialist  papers 


48  ROMANCE 

used  to  kill  him  once  a  month ;  the  Separationists  made  him  capture 
one  of  old  Rowley's  sloops  five  times  a  year.  They  both  lied,  of 
course.  But  obviously  Rowley  and  his  frigates  weren't  much  use 
against  a  pirate  whom  they  could  not  catch  at  sea,  and  who  lived 
at  the  bottom  of  a  bottle-necked  creek  with  tooth  rocks  all  over  the 
entrance — that  was  the  sort  of  place  Rio  Medio  was  reported  to 
be.  .  .  . 

I  hadn't  much  cared  about  either  party — I  was  looking  out  for 
romance — but  I  inclined  a  little  to  the  Separationists,  because 
Macdonald,  with  whom  I  lived  for  two  years  at  Horton  Pen,  was 
himself  a  Separationist,  in  a  cool  Scotch  sort  of  way.  He  was  an 
Argyleshire  man,  who  had  come  out  to  the  island  as  a  lad  in  1786, 
and  had  worked  his  way  up  to  the  position  of  agent  to  the  Rooksby 
estate  at  Horton  Pen.  He  had  a  little  estate  of  his  own,  too,  at 
the  mouth  of  the  River  Minho,  where  he  grew  rice  very  profitably. 
He  had  been  the  first  man  to  plant  it  on  the  island. 

Horton  Pen  nestled  down  at  the  foot  of  the  tall  white  scars  that 
end  the  Vale  of  St.  Thomas  and  are  not  much  unlike  Dover 
Cliffs,  hanging  over  a  sea  of  squares  of  the  green  cane,  alternating 
with  masses  of  pimento  foliage.  Macdonald's  wife  was  an  im- 
mensely stout,  raven-haired,  sloe-eyed,  talkative  body,  the  most 
motherly  woman  I  have  ever  known — I  suppose  because  she  was 
childless. 

What  was  anomalous  in  my  position  had  passed  away  with  the 
next  outw^ard  mail.  Veronica  wrote  to  me ;  Ralph  to  his  attorney 
and  the  Macdonalds.  But  by  that  time  Mrs.  Mac.  had  darned 
my  socks  ten  times. 

The  surrounding  gentry,  the  large  resident  landowners,  of  whom 
there  remained  a  sprinkling  in  the  Vale,  were  at  first  inclined  to 
make  much  of  me.  There  was  Mrs.  Topnambo,  a  withered,  very 
dried-up  personage,  who  affected  pink  trimmings;  she  gave  the  ton 
to  the  countryside  as  far 'as  ton  could  be  given  to  a  society  that 
rioted  with  hospitality.  She  made  efforts  to  draw  me  out  of  the 
Macdonald  environment,  to  make  me  differentiate  mj^self,  because 
I  was  the  grandson  of  an  earl.  But  the  Topnambos  were  the  great 
Loyalists  of  the  place,  and  the  Macdonalds  the  principal  Separa- 
tionists, and  I  stuck  to  the  Macdonalds.  I  was  searching  for  ro- 
mance, you  see,  and  could  find  none  in  Mrs.  Topnambo's  white 


PART  SECOND  49 

figure,  with  its  dryish,  gray  skin,  and  pink  patches  round  the  neck, 
that  lay  forever  in  dark  or  darkened  rooms,  and  talked  querulously 
of  "  Your  uncle,  the  earl,"  whom  I  had  never  seen.  I  didn't  get  on 
with  the  men  any  better.  They  were  either  very  dried  up  and 
querulous,  too,  or  else  very  liquorish  or  boisterous  in  an  incompre- 
hensible way.  Their  evenings  seemed  to  be  a  constant  succession  of 
shouts  of  laughter,  merging  into  undignified  staggers  of  white 
trousers  through  blue  nights  —  round  the  corners  of  ragged 
huts.  I  never  understood  the  hidden  sources  of  their  humor,  and 
I  had  not  money  enough  to  mix  well  with  their  lavishness.  I  was 
too  proud  to  be  indebted  to  them,  too.  They  didn't  even  acknowl- 
edge me  on  the  road  at  last;  they  called  me  poor-spirited,  a  thin- 
blooded  nobleman's  cub — a  Separationist  traitor — and  left  me  to 
superintend  niggers  and  save  money.  Mrs.  Mac,  good  Separationist 
though  she  was,  as  became  the  wife  of  her  husband,  had  the  word 
"  home  "  forever  on  her  lips.  She  had  once  visited  the  Rooksbys 
at  Horton ;  she  had  treasured  up  a  host  of  tiny  things,  parts  of  my 
forgotten  boyhood,  and  she  talked  of  them  and  talked  of  them, 
until  that  past  seemed  a  wholly  desirable  time,  and  the  present  a 
dull  thing. 

Journeying  in  search  of  romance — and  that,  after  all,  is  our 
business  in  this  world — is  much  like  trying  to  catch  the  horizon. 
It  lies  a  little  distance  before  us,  and  a  little  distance  behind — 
about  as  far  as  the  eye  can  carry.  One  discovers  that  one  has 
passed  through  it  just  as  one  passed  what  is  to-day  our  horizon. 
One  looks  back  and  says,  "  Why,  there  it  is."  One  looks  forward 
and  says  the  same.  It  lies  either  in  the  old  days  when  we  used  to, 
or  in  the  new  days  when  we  shall.  I  look  back  upon  those  days  of 
mine,  and  little  things  remain,  come  back  to  me,  assume  an  atmos- 
phere, take  significance,  go  to  the  making  of  a  temps  jadis.  Prob- 
ably, when  I  look  back  upon  what  is  the  dull,  arid  waste  of  to-day, 
it  will  be  much  the  same. 

I  could  almost  wish  to  take  again  one  of  the  long,  uninteresting 
night  rides  from  the  Vale  to  Spanish  Town,  or  to  listen  once  more 
to  one  of  old  Macdonald's  interminable  harangues  on  the  folly 
of  Mr.  Canning's  policy,  or  the  virtues  of  Scotch  thrift.  "  Jack, 
lad,"  he  used  to  bellow  in  his  curious  squeak  of  a  voice,  "  a  gen- 
tleman you  may  be  of  guid  Scots  blood.    But  ye're  a  puir  body's  son 


50  ROMANCE 

for  a'  that."  He  was  set  on  my  making  money  and  turning  honest 
pennies.    I  think  he  really  liked  me. 

It  was  with  that  idea  that  he  introduced  me  to  Ramon,  "  an 
esteemed  Spanish  merchant  of  Kingston  and  Spanish  Town."  Ra- 
mon had  seemed  mysterious  when  I  had  seen  him  in  company  with 
Carlos  and  Castro;  but  re-introduced  in  the  homely  atmosphere  of 
the  Macdonalds,  he  had  become  merely  a  saturnine,  tall,  dusky- 
featured,  gold-spectacled  Spaniard,  and  very  good  company.  I 
learnt  nearly  all  my  Spanish  from  him.  The  only  mystery  about 
him  was  the  extravagantly  cheap  rate  at  which  he  sold  his  things 
under  the  flagstaff  in  front  of  Admiral  Rowley's  house,  the  King's 
House,  as  it  was  called.  The  admiral  himself  was  said  to  have 
extensive  dealings  with  Ramon ;  he  had  at  least  the  reputation  of 
desiring  to  turn  an  honest  penny,  like  myself.  At  any  rate,  every- 
one, from  the  proudest  planters  to  the  editor  of  the  Buckatoro 
Journal  next  door,  was  glad  of  a  chat  with  Ramon,  whose  knowl- 
edge of  an  immense  variety  of  things  was  as  deep  as  a  draw- 
well — and  as  placid. 

I  used  to  buy  island  produce  through  him,  ship  it  to  New 
Orleans,  have  it  sold,  and  re-import  parcels  of  "  notions,"  making 
a  double  profit.  He  was  always  ready  to  help  me,  and  as  ready 
to  talk,  saying  that  he  had  an  immense  respect  for  my  relations,  the 
Riegos. 

That  was  how,  at  the  end  of  my  second  year  in  the  island,  I  had 
come  to  talking  to  him.  The  stage  should  have  brought  a  letter 
from  Veronica,  who  was  to  have  presented  Rooksby  with  a  son 
and  heir,  but  it  was  unaccountably  late.  I  had  been  twice  to  the 
coach  office,  and  was  making  rriy  way  desultorily  back  to  Ramon's. 
He  was  talking  to  the  editor  of  the  Buckatoro  Journal — the  man 
from  next  door — and  to  another  who  had,  whilst  I  walked  lazily 
across  the  blazing  square,  ridden  furiously  up  to  the  steps  of  the 
arcade.  The  rider  was  talking  to  both  of  them  with  exaggerated 
gestures  of  his  arms.  He  had  ridden  off,  spurring,  and  the  editor, 
a  little,  gleaming-eyed  hunchback,  had  remained  in  the  sunshine, 
talking  excitedly  to  Ramon. 

I  knew  him  well,  an  amusing,  queer,  warped,  Satanic  member 
of  society,  who  was  a  sort  of  nephew  to  the  Macdonalds,  and  hand 
In  glove  with  all  the  Scotch  Separationists  of  the  island.     He  had 


PART  SECOND  51 

started  an  extraordinary,  scandalous  paper  that,  to  avoid  sequestra- 
tion, changed  its  name  and  offices  every  few  issues,  and  was  said  by 
Loyalists,  like  the  Topnambos,  to  have  an  extremely  bad  influence. 

He  subsisted  a  good  deal  on  the  charity  of  people  like  the  Mac- 
donalds,  and  I  used  sometimes  to  catch  sight  of  him  at  evenfall 
listening  to  Mrs.  Macdonald ;  he  would  be  sitting  beside  her  ham- 
mock on  the  veranda,  his  head  very  much  down  on  his  breast,  very 
much  on  one  side,  and  his  great  hump  portending  over  his  little 
white  face,  and  ruffling  up  his  ragged  black  hair.  Mrs.  Macdonald 
clacked  all  the  scandal  of  the  Vale,  and  the  Buckatoro  Journal  got 
the  benefit  of  it  all,  with  adornments. 

For  the  last  month  or  so  the  Journal  had  been  more  than  usually 
effective,  and  it  was  only  because  Rowley  was  preparing  to  con- 
found his  traducers  by  the  boat  attack  on  Rio  Medio,  that  a  war- 
rant had  not  come  against  David.  When  I  saw  him  talking  to 
Ramon,  I  imagined  that  the  rider  must  have  brought  news  of  a 
warrant,  and  that  David  was  preparing  for  flight.  He  hopped 
nimbly  from  Ramon's  steps  into  the  obscurity  of  his  own  door. 
Ramon  turned  his  spectacles  softly  upon  me. 

"  There  you  have  it,"  he  said.  "  The  folly;  the  folly!  To  send 
only  little  boats  to  attack  such  a  nest  of  villains.  It  is  inconceiv- 
able." 

The  horseman  had  brought  news  that  the  boats  of  Rowley's 
squadron  had  been  beaten  off  with  great  loss,  in  their  attack  on  Rio 
Medio. 

Ramon  went  on  with  an  air  of  immense  superiority,  "  And  all 
the  while  we  merchants  are  losing  thousands." 

His  dark  eyes  searched  my  face,  and  it  came  disagreeably  into 
my  head  that  he  was  playing  some  part ;  that  his  talk  was  delusive, 
his  anger  feigned ;  that,  perhaps,  he  still  suspected  me  of  being  a 
Separationist.  He  went  on  talking  about  the  failure  of  the  boat- 
attack.  All  Jamaica  had  been  talking  of  it,  speculating  about  it, 
congratulating  itself  on  it.  British  valor  was  going  to  tell ;  four 
boats'  crews  would  do  the  trick.  And  now  the  boats  had  been 
beaten  off,  the  crews  captured,  half  the  men  killed !  Already  there 
was  panic  on  the  island.  I  could  see  men  coming  together  in  little 
knots,  talking  eagerly.  I  didn't  like  to  listen  to  Ramon,  to  a 
Spaniard  talking  in  that  way  about  the  defeat  of  my  countrymen 


52  ROMANCE 

by  his.  I  walked  across  the  King's  Square,  and  the  stage  driving 
up  just  then,  I  went  to  the  office,  and  got  my  correspondence. 

Veronica's  letter  came  like  a  faint  echo,  like  the  sound  of  very 
distant  surf,  heard  at  night ;  it  seemed  impossible  that  anyone  could 
be  as  interested  as  she  in  the  things  that  were  happening  over  there. 
She  had  had  a  son ;  one  of  Ralph's  aunts  was  its  godmother.  She 
and  Ralph  had  been  to  Bath  last  spring;  the  country  wanted 
water  very  badly.  Ralph  had  used  his  influence,  had  explained 
matters  to  a  very  great  personage,  had  spent  a  little  money  on  the 
injured  runners.  In  the  meanwhile  I  had  nearly  forgotten  the 
whole  matter;  it  seemed  to  be  extraordinary  that  they  should  still 
be  interested  in  it. 

I  was  to  come  back ;  as  soon  as  it  was  safe  I  was  to  come  back ; 
that  was  the  main  tenor  of  the  letter. 

I  read  it  in  a  little  house  of  call,  in  a  whitewashed  room  that 
contained  a  cardboard  cat  labeled  "  The  Best,"  for  sole  ornament. 
Four  swarthy  fellows,  Mexican  patriots,  were  talking  noisily  about 
their  War  of  Independence,  and  the  exploits  of  a  General  Trape- 
lascis,  who  had  been  defeating  the  Spanish  troops  over  there.  It 
was  almost  impossible  to  connect  them  with  a  world  that  included 
Veronica's  delicate  handwriting  with  the  pencil  lines  erased  at  the 
base  of  each  line  of  ink.  They  seemed  to  be  infinitely  more  real. 
Even  Veronica's  interest  in  me  seemed  a  little  strange;  her  desire 
for  my  return  irritated  me.  It  was  as  if  she  had  asked  me  to 
return  to  a  state  of  bondage,  after  having  found  myself.  Thinking 
of  it  made  me  suddenly  aware  that  I  had  become  a  man,  with  a 
man's  aims,  and  a  disillusionized  view  of  life.  It  suddenly  ap- 
peared very  wonderful  that  I  could  sit  calmly  there,  surveying,  for 
instance,  those  four  sinister  fellows  with  daggers,  as  if  they  were 
nothing  at  all.  When  I  had  been  at  home  the  matter  would  have 
caused  me  extraordinary  emotions,  as  many  as  if  I  had  seen  an  ele- 
phant in  a  traveling  show.  As  for  going  back  to  my  old  life,  it 
didn't  seem  to  be  possible. 


CHAPTER  II 

ONE  night  I  was  riding  alone  towards  Horton  Pen.  A 
large  moon  hung  itself  up  above  me  like  an  enormous 
white  plate.  Finally  the  sloping  roof  of  the  Ferry  Inn, 
with  one  disheveled  palm  tree  drooping  over  it,  rose  into  the  disk. 
The  window  lights  were  reflected  like  shaken  torches  in  the  river. 
A  mass  of  objects,  picked  out  with  white  globes,  loomed  in  the 
high  shadow  of  the  inn,  standing  motionless.  They  resolved  them- 
selves into  a  barouche,  with  four  horses  steaming  a  great  deal,  and 
an  army  of  negresses  with  bandboxes  on  their  heads.  A  great  lady 
was  on  the  road ;  her  querulous  voice  was  calling  to  someone  within 
the  open  door  that  let  down  a  soft  yellow  light  from  the  top  of  the 
precipitous  steps.  A  nondescript  object,  with  apparently  two  horns 
and  a  wheel,  rested  inert  at  the  foot  of  the  sign-post ;  two  negroes 
were  wiping  their  foreheads  beside  it.  That  resolved  itself  into 
a  man  slumbering  in  a  wheelbarrow,  his  white  face  turned  up  to 
the  moon.  A  sort  of  buzz  of  voices  came  from  above ;  then  a  man 
in  European  clothes  was  silhouetted  against  the  light  in  the  door- 
way. He  held  a  full  glass  very  carefully  and  started  to  descend. 
Suddenly  he  stopped  emotionally.  Then  he  turned  half-right  and 
called  back,  "Sir  Charles!  Sir  Charles!  Here's  the  very  man! 
I  protest,  the  very  man !  "  There  was  an  interrogative  roar  from 
within.     It  was  like  being  outside  a  lion's  cage. 

People  appeared  and  disappeared  in  front  of  the  lighted  door; 
windows  stood  open,  with  heads  craning  out  all  along  the  inn  face. 
I  was  hurrying  ofi  the  back  of  my  horse  when  the  admiral  came 
out  on  to  the  steps.  Someone  lit  a  torch,  and  the  admiral  became 
a  dark,  solid  figure,  with  the  flash  of  the  gold  lace  on  his  coat.  He 
stood  very  high  in  the  leg;  had  small  white  whiskers,  and  a  large 
nose  that  threw  a  vast  shadow  on  to  his  forehead  in  the  upward 
light;  his  high  collar  was  open,  and  a  mass  of  white  appeared  under 
his  chin ;  his  head  was  uncovered.     A  third  male  face,  very  white, 

53 


54  ROMANCE 

bobbed  up  and  down  beside  his  shining  left  shoulder.  He  kept 
on  saying: 

"  What  ?  what  ?  what  ?  Hey,  what?  .  .  .  That  man?"  He 
appeared  to  be  halfway  between  supreme  content  and  violent 
anger.  At  last  he  delivered  himself.  "  Let's  duck  him  .  .  .  hey? 
.  .  .  Let's  duck  him!"  He  spoke  with  a  sort  of  benevolent 
chuckle,  then  raised  his  voice  and  called,  "Tinsley!  Tinsley! 
Where  the  deuce  is  Tinsley?  " 

A  high  nasal  sound  came  from  the  carriage  window.  "  Sir 
Charles!  Sir  Charles!  Let  there  be  no  scene  in  my  presence,  I 
beg." 

I  suddenly  saw,  halfway  up,  laboriously  ascending  the  steps,  a 
black  figure,  indistinguishable  at  first  on  account  of  deformities. 
It  was  David  Macdonald.  Since  his  last,  really  terrible  comments 
on  the  failure  of  the  boat-attack,  he  had  been  lying  hidden  some- 
where. It  came  upon  me  in  a  flash  that  he  was  making  his  way 
from  one  hiding  place  to  another.  In  making  his  escape  from 
Spanish  Town,  either  to  Kingston  or  the  Vale,  he  had  run 
against  the  admiral  and  his  party  returning  from  the  Topnambos' 
ball.  It  was  hardly  a  coincidence:  everyone  on  the  road  met 
at  the  Ferry  Inn.  But  that  hardly  made  the  thing  more 
pleasant. 

Sir  Charles  continued  to  clamor  for  Tinsley,  his  flag  lieutenant, 
who,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  was  the  man  drunk  in  the  wheelbarrow. 
When  this  was  explained  by  the  shouts  of  the  negroes,  he  grunted, 
"  Umph!  "  turned  on  the  man  at  his  side,  and  said,  "  Here,  Old- 
ham; you  lend  a  hand  to  duck  the  little  toad."  It  was  the  sort  of 
thing  that  the  thirsty  climate  of  Jamaica  rendered  frequent  enough. 
Oldham  dropped  his  glass  and  protested.  Macdonald  continued 
silently  and  enigmatically  to  climb  the  steps;  now  he  was  in  for 
it  he  showed  plenty  of  pluck.  No  doubt  he  recognized  that,  if  the 
admiral  made  a  fool  of  himself,  he  would  be  afraid  to  issue  war- 
rants in  soberness.  I  could  not  stand  by  and  see  them  bully  the 
wretched  little  creature.  At  the  same  time  I  didn't,  most  decid- 
edly, want  to  identify  myself  with  him. 

I  called  out  impulsively,  "  Sir  Charles,  surely  you  would  not  use 
violence  to  a  cripple." 

Then,  very  suddenly,  they  all  got  to  action,  David  Macdonald 


PART  SECOND  55 

reaching  the  top  of  the  steps.  Shrieks  came  from  the  interior  of 
the  carriage,  and  from  the  waiting  negresses.  I  saw  three  men 
were  falling  upon  a  little  thing  like  a  damaged  cat.  I  couldn't 
stand  that,  come  what  might  of  it. 

I  ran  hastily  up  the  steps,  hoping  to  be  able  to  make  them  recover 
their  senses,  a  force  of  purely  conventional  emotion  impelling  me. 
It  was  no  business  of  mine;  I  didn't  want  to  interfere,  and  I  felt 
like  a  man  hastening  to  separate  half  a  dozen  fighting  dogs  too  large 
to  be  pleasant. 

When  I  reached  the  top,  there  was  a  sort  of  undignified  scuffle, 
and  in  the  end  I  found  myself  standing  above  a  ghastly  white 
gentleman  who,  from  a  sitting  posture,  was  gasping  out,  "  I'll 
commit  you!  .  .  .  I  swear  I'll  commit  you !  .  .  ."  I  helped  him 
to  his  feet  rather  apologetically,  while  the  admiral  behind  me  was 
asking  insistently  who  the  deuce  I  was.  The  man  I  had  picked  up 
retreated  a  little,  and  then  turned  back  to  look  at  me.  The  light 
was  shining  on  my  face,  and  he  began  to  call  out,  "  I  know  him. 
I  know  him  perfectly  well.  He's  John  Kemp.  I'll  commit  him  at 
once.  The  papers  are  in  the  barouche."  After  that  he  seemed  to 
take  it  into  his  head  that  I  was  going  to  assault  him  again.  He 
bolted  out  of  sight,  and  I  was  left  facing  the  admiral.  He  stared 
at  me  contemptuously.  I  was  streaming  with  perspiration  and  up- 
braiding him  for  assaulting  a  cripple. 

The  admiral  said,  "Oh,  that's  what  you  think?  I  will  settle 
with  you  presently.    This  is  rank  mutiny." 

I  looked  at  Oldham,  who  was  the  admiral's  secretary.  He 
was  extremely  disheveled  about  his  neck,  much  as  if  a  monkey  had 
been  clawing  him  thereabouts.  Half  of  his  roll  collar  flapped  on 
his  heaving  chest;  his  stock  hung  down  behind  like  a  cue.  I  had 
seen  him  kneeling  on  the  ground  with  his  head  pinned  down  by  the 
hunchback.    I  said  loftily: 

"  What  did  you  set  him  on  a  little  beggar  like  that  for?  You 
were  three  to  one.    What  did  you  expect?  " 

The  Admiral  swore.  Oldham  began  to  mop  with  a  lace  hand- 
kerchief at  a  damaged  upper  lip  from  which  a  stream  of  blood  was 
running;  he  even  seemed  to  be  weeping  a  little.  Finally,  he 
vanished  in  at  the  door,  very  much  bent  together.  The  undaunted 
David  hopped  in  after  him  coolly. 


56  ROMANCE 

The  admiral  said,  "  I  know  your  kind.  You're  a  treasonous  dog, 
sir.    This  is  mutiny.    You  shall  be  made  an  example  of." 

All  the  same  he  must  have  been  ashamed  of  himself,  for  presently 
he  and  the  two  others  went  down  the  steps  without  even  looking 
at  me,  and  their  carriage  rolled  away. 

Inside  the  inn  I  found  a  couple  of  merchant  captains,  one  asleep 
with  his  head  on  the  table  and  little  rings  shining  in  his  great  red 
ears;  the  other  very  spick  and  span — of  what  they  called  the  new 
school  then.  His  name  was  Williams — Captain  Williams  of  the 
Liorij  which  he  part  owned ;  a  man  of  some  note  for  the  dinners  he 
gave  on  board  his  ship.  His  eyes  sparkled  blue  and  very  round  in 
a  round  rosy  face,  and  he  clawed  effusively  at  my  arm.  • 

"  Well  done!  "  he  bubbled  over.  "  You  gave  it  them;  strike  me, 
you  did !  It  did  me  good  to  see  and  hear.  I  wasn't  going  to  poke 
my  nose  in,  not  I.    But  I  admire  you,  my  boy." 

He  was  a  quite  guileless  man  with  a  strong  dislike  for  the  ad- 
miral's blundering — a  dislike  that  all  the  seamen  shared — and  for 
people  of  the  Topnambo  kidney  who  affected  to  be  above  his 
dinners.  He  assured  me  that  I  had  burst  upon  those  gentry  roaring 
..."  like  the  Bull  of  Bashan.  You  should  have  seen!  "  and  he 
drank  my  health  in  a  glass  of  punch. 

David  Macdonald  joined  us,  looming  through  wreaths  of  to- 
bacco smoke.  He  was  always  very  nice  in  his  dress,  and  had  washed 
himself  into  a  state  of  enviable  coolness. 

"  They  won't  touch  me  now,"  he  said.  "  I  wanted  that  assault 
and  battery.  .  .  ."  He  suddenly  turned  vivid,  sarcastic  black  eyes 
upon  me.  "But  you,"  he  said — "my  dear  Kemp!  You're  in  a 
devil  of  a  scrape!  They'll  have  a  warrant  out  against  you  under 
the  Black  Act.    I  know  the  gentry." 

"  Oh,  he  won't  mind,"  Williams  struck  in,  "  I  know  him;  he's 
a  trump.     Afraid  of  nothing." 

David  Macdonald  made  a  movement  of  his  head  that  did  duty 
for  an  ominous  shake: 

"  It's  a  devil  of  a  mess,"  he  said.  "  But  I'll  touch  them  up. 
Why  did  you  hit  Topnambo?  He's  the  spitefullest  beast  in  the 
island.  They'll  make  it  out  high  treason,  They  are  capable  of 
sending  you  home  on  this  charge." 

"  Oh,  never  say  die."    Williams  turned  to  me,  "  Come  dine  with 


PART  SECOND  57 

me  on  board  at  Kingston  to-morrow  night.  If  there's  any  fuss  I'll 
see  what  I  can  do.  Or  you  can  take  a  trip  with  me  to  Havana  till 
it  blows  over.  My  old  woman's  on  board."  His  face  fell.  "  But 
there,  you'll  get  round  her.     I'll  see  you  through." 

They  drank  some  sangaree  and  became  noisy.  I  wasn't  very 
happy;  there  was  much  truth  in  what  David  Macdonald  had  said. 
Topnambo  would  certainly  do  his  best  to  have  me  in  jail — to  make 
an  example  of  me  as  a  Separationist  to  please  the  admiral  and  the 
Duke  of  Manchester.  Under  the  spell  of  his  liquor  Williams  be- 
came more  and  more  pressing  with  his  offers  of  help. 

"  It's  the  devil  that  my  missus  should  be  on  board,  just  this  trip. 
But  hang  it!  come  and  dine  with  me.  I'll  get  some  of  the  Kingston 
men — the  regular  hot  men — to  stand  up  for  you.  They  will  when 
they  hear  the  tale." 

There  was  a  certain  amount  of  sense  in  what  he  said.  If  war- 
rants were  out  against  me,  he  or  some  of  the  Kingston  merchants 
whom  he  knew,  and  who  had  no  cause  to  love  the  admiral,  might 
help  me  a  good  deal. 

Accordingly,  I  did  go  down  to  Kingston.  It  happened  to  be  the 
day  when  the  seven  pirates  were  hanged  at  Port  Royal  Point.  I 
had  never  seen  a  hanging,  and  a  man  who  hadn't  was  rare  in  those 
days.  I  wanted  to  keep  out  of  the  way,  but  it  was  impossible  to 
get  a  boatman  to  row  me  off  to  the  Lion.  They  were  all  dying  to 
see  the  show,  and,  half  curious,  half  reluctant,  I  let  myself  drift 
w^ith  the  crowd. 

The  gallows  themselves  stood  high  enough  to  be  seen — a  long 
very  stout  beam  supported  by  posts  at  each  end.  There  was  a 
blazing  sun,  and  the  crowd  pushed  and  shouted  and  craned  its 
thousands  of  heads  every  time  one  heard  the  cry  of  "  Here  they 
come,"  for  an  hour  or  so.  There  was  a  very  limpid  sky,  a  very 
limpid  sea,  a  scattering  of  shipping  gliding  up  and  down,  and  the 
very  silent  hills  a  long  way  away.  There  was  a  large  flavor  of 
Spaniards  among  the  crowd.  I  got  into  the  middle  of  a  knot  of 
them,  jammed  against  the  wheels  of  one  of  the  carriages,  standing, 
hands  down,  on  tiptoe,  staring  at  the  long  scaffold.  There  were  a 
great  many  false  alarms,  sudden  outcries,  hushing  again  rather 
slowly.  In  between  I  could  hear  someone  behind  me  talk 
Spanish  to  the  occupants  of  the  carriage.     I  thought  the  voice  was 


58  ROMANCE 

Ramon's,  but  I  could  not  turn,  and  the  people  in  the  carriage 
answered  in  French,  I  thought.  A  man  was  shouting  "  Cool 
Drinks  "  on  the  other  side  of  them. 

Finally,  there  was  a  roar,  an  irresistible  swaying,  a  rattle  of 
musket  ramrods,  a  rhythm  of  marching  feet,  and  the  grating  of 
heavy  iron-bound  wheels.  Seven  men  appeared  in  sight  above  the 
heads,  clinging  to  each  other  for  support,  and  being  drawn  slowly 
along.  The  little  worsted  balls  on  the  infantry  shakos  bobbed  all 
round  their  feet.  They  were  a  sorry-looking  group,  those  pirates; 
very  wild-eyed,  very  ragged,  dust-stained,  weather-beaten,  begrimed 
till  they  had  the  color  of  unpolished  mahogany.  Clinging  still  to 
each  other  as  they  stood  beneath  the  dangling  ropes  of  the  long 
beam,  they  had  the  appearance  of  a  group  of  statuary  to  forlorn 
misery.    Festoons  of  chains  completed  the  "  composition." 

One  was  a  very  old  man  with  long  yellow-white  hair,  one  a 
negro  whose  skin  had  no  luster  at  all.  The  rest  were  very  dark- 
skinned,  peak-bearded,  and  had  long  hair  falling  round  their  necks. 
A  soldier  with  a  hammer  and  a  small  anvil  climbed  into  the  cart, 
and  bent  down  out  of  sight.  There  was  a  ring  of  iron  on  iron, 
and  the  man  next  the  very  old  man  raised  his  arms  and  began  to 
speak  very  slowly,  very  distinctly,  and  very  mournfully.  It  was 
quite  easy  to  understand  him;  he  declared  his  perfect  innocence. 
No  one  listened  to  him;  his  name  was  Pedro  Nones.  He  ceased 
speaking,  and  someone  on  a  horse,  the  High  Sheriff,  I  think,  gal- 
loped impatiently  past  the  cart  and  shouted.  Two  men  got  into 
the  cart,  one  pulled  the  rope,  the  other  caught  the  pirate  by  the 
elbows.  He  jerked  himself  loose,  and  began  to  cry  out;  he  seemed 
to  be  lost  in  amazement,  and  shrieked  : 

"  Adonde  esta  el  padre?   .   .   .   Adonde  esta  el  padre?  " 

No  one  answered ;  there  wasn't  a  priest  of  any  denomination ;  I 
don't  know  whether  the  omission  was  purposed.  The  man's  face 
grew  convulsed  with  agony,  his  eyeballs  stared  out  very  white  and 
vivid,  as  he  struggled  with  the  two  men.  He  began  to  curse  us 
epileptically  for  compassing  his  damnation.  A  hoarse  patter  of 
Spanish  imprecations  came  from  the  crowd  immediately  round  me. 
The  man  with  the  voice  like  Ramon's  groaned  in  a  lamentable 
way;  someone  else  said,  "  What  infamy  .   .   .  what  infamy!  " 

An  aged  voice  said  tremulously  in  the  carriage,  "  This  shall  be 


PART  SECOND  59 

a  matter  of  official  remonstrance."  Another  said,  "  Ah,  these 
English  heretics!  " 

There  was  a  forward  rush  of  the  crowd,  which  carried  me  away. 
Someone  in  front  began  to  shout  orders,  and  the  crowd  swayed  back 
again.  The  infantry  muskets  rattled.  The  commotion  lasted  some 
time.  When  it  ceased,  I  saw  that  the  man  about  to  die  had  been 
kissing  the  very  old  man;  tears  were  streaming  down  the  gray, 
parchment-colored  cheeks.  Pedro  Nones  had  the  rope  round  his 
neck;  it  curved  upwards  loosely  towards  the  beam,  growing  taut 
as  the  cart  jolted  away.     He  shouted: 

"  Adios,  viejoj  para  siempre  adi " 

My  whole  body  seemed  to  go  dead  all  over.  I  happened  to  look 
downwards  at  my  hands ;  they  were  extraordinarily  white,  with  the 
veins  standing  out  all  over  them.  They  felt  as  if  they  had  been 
sodden  in  water,  and  it  was  quite  a  long  time  before  they  recovered 
their  natural  color.  The  rest  of  the  men  were  hung  after  that, 
the  cart  jolting  a  little  way  backwards  and  forwards,  and  growing 
less  crowded  after  every  journey.  One  man,  who  was  very  large- 
framed  and  stout,  had  to  go  through  it  twice  because  the  rope 
broke.  He  made  a  good  deal  of  fuss.  My  head  ached,  and  after 
the  involuntary  straining  and  craning  to  miss  no  details  was  over, 
I  felt  sick  and  dazed.  The  people  talked  a  great  deal  as  they 
streamed  back,  loosening  over  the  broader  stretch  of  pebbles;  they 
seemed  to  wish  to  remind  each  other  of  details,  I  have  an  idea  that 
one  or  two,  in  the  sheer  largeness  of  heart  that  seizes  one  after 
occasions  of  popular  emotions,  asked  me  in  exulting  voices  if  I  had 
seen  the  nigger's  tongue  sticking  out. 

Others  thought  that  there  wasn't  very  much  to  be  exultant  over. 
We  had  not  really  captured  the  pirates ;  they  had  been  handed  over 
to  the  admiral  by  the  Havana  authorities — as  an  international  cour- 
tesy I  suppose,  or  else  because  they  were  pirates  of  no  account  and 
short  in  funds,  or  because  the  admiral  had  been  making  a  fuss  In 
front  of  the  Morro.  It  w^as  even  asserted  by  the  anti-admiral 
faction  that  the  seven  weren't  pirates  at  all,  but  merely  Cuban 
mauvais  sujets,  hawkers  of  derogatory  coplas,  and  known  free- 
thinkers. 

In  any  case,  excited  people  cheered  the  High  Sheriff  and  the 
returning  infantry,  because  it  was  pleasant  to  hang  any  kind  of 


6o  ROMANCE 

Spaniard.  I  got  nearly  knocked  down  by  the  kettle-drummers, 
who  came  through  the  scattering  crowd  at  a  swinging  quick-step. 
As  I  cannoned  off  the  drums,  a  hand  caught  at  my  arm,  and  some- 
one else  began  to  speak  to  me.  It  was  old  Ramon,  who  was  telling 
me  that  he  had  a  special  kind  of  Manchester  goods  at  his  store. 
He  explained  that  they  had  arrived  very  lately,  and  that  he  had 
come  from  Spanish  Town  solely  on  their  account.  One  made  the 
eighth  of  a  penny  a  yard  more  on  them  than  on  any  other  kind.  If 
I  would  deign  to  have  some  of  it  offered  to  my  inspection,  he  had 
his  little  curricle  just  off  the  road.  He  was  drawing  me  gently 
towards  it  all  the  time,  and  I  had  not  any  idea  of  resisting.  He 
had  been  behind  in  the  crowd,  he  said,  beside  the  carriage  of  the 
commissioner  and  the  judge  of  the  Marine  Court  sent  by  the  Ha- 
vana authorities  to  deliver  the  pirates. 

It  was  after  that,  that  in  Ramon's  dusky  store,  I  had  my  first 
sight  of  Seraphina  and  of  her  father,  and  then  came  my  meeting 
with  Carlos.  I  could  hardly  believe  my  eyes  when  I  saw  him  come 
out  wnth  extended  hand.  It  was  an  extraordinary  sensation,  that 
of  talking  to  Carlos  again.  He  seemed  to  have  worn  badly.  His 
face  had  lost  its  moist  bloom,  its  hardly  distinguishable  subcuta- 
neous flush.  It  had  grown  very,  very  pale.  Dark  blue  circles  took 
away  from  the  blackness  and  sparkle  of  his  eyes.  And  he  coughed, 
and  coughed. 

He  put  his  arm  affectionately  round  my  shoulders  and  said, 
"  How  splendid  to  see  you  again,  my  Juan."  His  eyes  had  affec- 
tion in  them,  there  was  no  doubt  about  that,  but  I  felt  vaguely 
suspicious  of  him.  I  remembered  how  we  had  parted  on  board  the 
Thames.  "  We  can  talk  here,"  he  added ;  "  it  is  very  pleasant.  You 
shall  see  my  uncle,  that  great  man,  the  star  of  Cuban  law,  and  my 
cousin  Seraphina,  your  kinsfolk.  They  love  you;  I  have  spoken 
well  of  you."  He  smiled  gayly,  and  went  on,  "  This  is  not  a  place 
befitting  his  greatness,  nor  my  cousin's,  nor,  indeed,  my  own."  He 
smiled  again.  "  But  I  shall  be  very  soon  dead,  and  to  me  it  matters 
little."  He  frowned  a  little,  and  then  laughed.  "  But  you  should 
have  seen  the  faces  of  your  officers  when  my  uncle  refused  to  go  to 
their  governor's  palace ;  there  was  to  have  been  a  fiesta'  a  '  recep- 
tion ';  is  it  not  the  word?    It  will  cause  a  great  scandal." 

He  smiled  with  a  good  deal  of  fine  malice,  and  looked  as  if  he 


PART  SECOND  6i 

expected  me  to  be  pleased,  I  said  that  I  did  not  quite  understand 
what  had  offended  his  uncle. 

"  Oh,  it  was  because  there  was  no  priest,"  Carlos  answered, 
"  when  those  poor  devils  were  hung.  They  were  canaille.  Yes ; 
but  one  gives  that  much  even  to  such.  And  my  uncle  was  there  in 
his  official  capacity  as  a — a  plenipotentiary.  He  was  very  much 
distressed :  we  were  all.  You  heard,  my  uncle  himself  had  advised 
their  being  surrendered  to  your  English.  And  when  there  was  no 
priest  he  repented  very  bitterly.    Why,  after  all,  it  was  an  infamy." 

He  paused  again,  and  leant  back  against  the  counter.  When  his 
eyes  were  upon  the  ground  and  his  face  not  animated  by  talking, 
there  became  lamentably  insistent  his  pallor,  the  deep  shadows 
under  his  eyes,  and  infinite  sadness  in  the  droop  of  his  features,  as 
if  he  were  preoccupied  by  an  all-pervading  and  hopeless  grief. 
When  he  looked  at  me,  he  smiled,  however. 

"  Well,  at  worst  it  is  over,  and  my  uncle  is  here  in  this  dirty 
place  instead  of  at  your  palace.  We  sail  back  to  Cuba  this  very 
evening."  He  looked  round  him  at  Ramon's  calicos  and  sugar- 
tubs  in  the  dim  light,  as  if  he  accepted  almost  incredulously  the 
fact  that  they  could  be  in  such  a  place,  and  the  manner  of  his  voice 
indicated  that  he  thought  our  governor's  palace  would  have  been 
hardly  less  barbarous.  "  But  I  am  sorry,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  be- 
cause I  wanted  you — you  and  all  your  countrymen — to  make  a 
good  impression  on  him.  You  must  do  it  yourself  alone.  And  you 
will.  You  are  not  like  these  others.  You  are  our  kinsman,  and  I 
have  praised  you  very  much.    You  saved  my  life." 

I  began  to  say  that  I  had  done  nothing  at  all,  but  he  waved  his 
hand  with  a  little  smile. 

"  You  are  very  brave,"  he  said,  as  if  to  silence  me.  "  I  am  not 
ungrateful." 

He  began  again  to  ask  for  news  from  home — from  my  home. 
I  told  him  that  Veronica  had  a  baby,  and  he  sighed. 

"She  married  the  excellent  Rooksby?"  he  asked.  "Ah,  what 
a  waste."  He  relapsed  into  silence  again.  "  There  was  no  woman 
in  your  land  like  her.  She  might  have — ■ —  And  to  marry  that — 
that  excellent  personage,  my  good  cousin.    It  is  a  tragedy." 

"  It  was  a  very  good  match,"  I  answered. 

He  sighed  again.     "  My  uncle  is  asleep  in  there,  now,"  he  said, 


62  ROMANCE 

after  a  pause,  pointing  at  the  inner  door.  "  We  must  not  wake 
him;  he  is  a  very  old  man.  You  do  not  mind  talking  to  me?  You 
will  wait  to  see  them?     Dona  Seraphina  is  here,  too." 

"  You  have  not  married  your  cousin?  "  I  asked. 

I  wanted  very  much  to  see  the  young  girl  who  had  looked  at  me 
for  a  moment,  and  I  certainly  should  have  been  distressed  if  Carlos 
had  said  she  was  married. 

He  answered,  "What  would  you  have?"  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders  gently.  A  smile  came  into  his  face.  "  She  is  very  willful. 
I  did  not  please  her,  I  do  not  know  why.  Perhaps  she  has  seen  too 
many  men  like  me." 

He  told  me  that,  when  he  reached  Cuba,  after  parting  with  me 
on  the  Thames,  his  uncle,  "  in  spite  of  certain  influences,"  had 
received  him  quite  naturally  as  his  heir,  and  the  future  head  of  the 
family.  But  Seraphina,  whom  by  the  laws  of  convenience  he  ought 
to  have  married,  had  quite  calmly  refused  him. 

"  I  did  not  impress  her;  she  is  romantic.  She  wanted  a  very  bold 
man,  a  Cid,  something  that  it  is  not  easy  to  have." 

He  paused  again,  and  looked  at  me  with  some  sort  of  challenge  in 
his  eyes. 

"  She  could  have  met  no  one  better  than  you,"  I  said. 

He  waved  his  hand  a  little.    "  Oh,  for  that "  he  said  depre- 

catingly.  "  Besides,  I  am  dying.  I  have  never  been  well  since  I 
went  into  your  cold  sea,  over  there,  after  we  left  your  sister.  You 
remember  how  I  coughed  on  board  that  miserable  ship." 

I  did  remember  it  very  well. 

He  went  to  the  inner  door,  looked  in,  and  then  came  back  to 
me. 

"  Seraphina  needs  a  guide — a  controller — someone  very  strong 
and  gentle,  and  kind  and  brave.  My  uncle  wall  never  ask  her  to 
marry  against  her  wish ;  he  is  too  old  ,  and  has  too  little  will.  And 
for  any  man  who  would  marry  her — except  one — there  would  be 
great  dangers,  for  her  and  for  him.  It  would  need  a  cool  man, 
and  a  brave  man,  and  a  good  one,  too,  to  hazard,  perhaps  even  life, 
for  her  sake.  She  will  be  very  rich.  All  our  lands,  all  our  towns, 
all  our  gold."  There  was  a  suggestion  of  fabulousness  in  his 
dreamy  voice.    "  They  shall  never  be  mine,"  he  added.    "  Vaya." 

He  looked  at  me  with  his  piercing  eyes  set  to  an  expression  that 


PART  SECOND  63 

might  have  been  gentle  mockery.  At  any  rate,  it  also  contained 
intense  scrutiny,  and,  perhaps,  a  little  of  appeal.     I  sighed  myself. 

"  There  is  a  man  called  O'Brien  in  there,"  he  said.  "  He  does 
us  the  honor  to  pretend  to  my  cousin's  hand." 

I  felt  singularly  angry.    "  Well,  he's  not  a  Spaniard,"  I  said. 

Carlos  answered  mockingly,  "  Oh,  for  Spaniard,  no.  He  is  a 
descendant  of  the  Irish  kings." 

"  He's  an  adventurer,"  I  said.  "  You  ought  to  be  on  your  guard. 
You  don't  know  these  bog-trotting  fortune-hunters.  They're  the 
laughter  of  Europe,  kings  and  all." 

Carlos  smiled  again.  "  He's  a  very  dangerous  man  for  all  that," 
he  said.  "  I  should  not  advise  anyone  to  come  to  Rio  Medio,  my 
uncle's  town,  without  making  a  friend  of  the  Senor  O'Brien." 

He  went  once  more  to  the  inner  door,  and,  after  a  moment's 
whispering  with  someone  within,  returned  to  me. 

"  My  uncle  still  sleeps,"  he  said.  "  I  must  keep  you  a  little 
longer.  Ah,  yes,  the  Senor  O'Brien.  He  shall  marry  my  cousin, 
I  think,  when  I  am  dead." 

"  You  don't  know  these  fellows,"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  I  know  them  very  well,"  Carlos  smiled,  "  there  are  many 
of  them  at  Havana.  They  came  there  after  what  they  call  the 
'98,  when  there  was  great  rebellion  in  Ireland,  and  many  good 
Catholics  were  killed  and  ruined." 

"  Then  he's  a  rebel,  and  ought  to  be  hung,"  I  said. 

Carlos  laughed  as  of  old.  "  It  may  be,  but,  my  good  Juan,  we 
Christians  do  not  see  eye  to  eye  with  you.  This  man  rebelled 
against  your  government,  but,  also,  he  suffered  for  the  true  faith. 
He  is  a  good  Catholic;  he  has  suffered  for  it;  and,  in  the  Ever 
Faithful  Island,  that  is  a  passport.  He  has  climbed  very  high ;  he 
is  a  judge  of  the  Marine  Court  at  Havana.  That  is  why  he  is  here 
to-day,  attendmg  my  uncle  in  this  affair  of  delivering  up  the  pirates. 
My  uncle  loves  him  very  much.  O'Brien  was  at  first  my  uncle's 
clerk,  and  my  uncle  made  him  a  juez,  and  he  is  also  the  intendant 
of  my  uncle's  estates,  and  he  has  a  great  influence  in  my  uncle's 
town  of  Rio  Medio.  I  tell  you,  if  you  come  to  visit  us,  it  will 
be  as  well  to  be  on  good  terms  with  the  Senor  Juez  O'Brien.  My 
uncle  is  a  very  old  man,  and  if  I  die  before  him,  this  O'Brien,  I 
think,  will  end  by  marrying  my  cousin,  because  my  poor  uncle  is 


64  ROMANCE 

very  much  in  his  hands.  There  are  other  pretenders,  but  they 
have  little  chance,  because  it  is  so  very  dangerous  to  come  to  my 
uncle's  town  of  Rio  Medio,  on  account  of  this  man's  intrigues  and 
of  his  power  with  the  populace." 

I  looked  at  Carlos  intently.  The  name  of  the  town  had  seemed 
to  be  familiar  to  me.  Now  I  suddenly  remembered  that  it  was 
where  Nicolas  el  Demonio,  the  pirate  w^ho  was  so  famous  as  to  be 
almost  mythical,  had  beaten  off  Admiral  Rowley's  boats. 

"  Come,  you  had  better  see  this  Irish  hidalgo  who  wants  to  do 
us  so  much  honor," — he  gave  an  inscrutable  glance  at  me, — "  but 
do  not  talk  loudly  till  my  uncle  wakes." 

He  threw  the  door  open.  I  followed  him  into  the  room,  where 
the  vision  of  the  ancient  Don  and  the  charming  apparition  of  the 
young  girl  had  retreated  only  a  few  moments  before. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  room  was  very  lofty  and  coldly  dim;  there  were 
great  bars  in  front  of  the  begrimed  windows.  It  was 
very  bare,  containing  only  a  long  black  table,  some 
packing  cases,  and  half  a  dozen  rocking  chairs.  Of  these,  five  were 
very  new  and  one  very  old,  black  and  heavy,  with  a  green  leather 
seat  and  a  coat  of  arms  worked  on  its  back  cushions.  There  were 
little  heaps  of  mahogany  sawdust  here  and  there  on  the  dirty  tiled 
floor,  and  a  pile  of  sacking  in  one  corner.  Beneath  a  window  the 
flap  of  an  open  trap-door  half  hid  a  large  green  damp-stain;  a  deep 
recess  in  the  wall  yawned  like  a  cavern,  and  had  two  or  three  tubs 
in  the  right  corner;  a  man  with  a  blond  head,  slightly  bald  as  if 
he  had  been  tonsured,  was  rocking  gently  in  one  of  the  new  chairs. 

Opposite  him,  with  his  aged  face  towards  us,  sat  the  old  Don 
asleep  in  the  high  chair.  His  delicate  white  hands  lay  along  the 
arms,  one  of  them  holding  a  gold  vinaigrette;  his  black,  silver- 
headed  cane  was  between  his  silk-stockinged  legs.  The  diamond 
buckles  of  his  shoes  shot  out  little  vivid  rays,  even  in  that  gloomy 
place.  The  young  girl  was  sitting  with  her  hands  to  her  temples 
and  her  elbows  on  the  long  table,  minutely  examining  the  motion- 
lessness  of  a  baby  lizard,  a  tiny  thing  with  golden  eyes,  whom  fear 
seemed  to  have  turned  into  stone. 

We  entered  quietly,  and  after  a  moment  she  looked  up  candidly 
into  my  eyes,  and  placed  her  finger  on  her  lips,  motioning  her  head 
towards  her  father.  She  placed  her  hand  in  mine,  and  whispered 
very  clearly: 

"  Be  welcome,  my  English  cousin,"  and  then  dropped  her  eyes 
again  to  the  lizard. 

She  knew  all  about  me  from  Carlos.  The  man  of  whom  I  had 
seen  only  the  top  of  his  head,  turned  his  chair  suddenly  and  glinted 
at  me  with  little  blue  eyes.  He  was  rather  small  and  round,  with 
very  firm  flesh,  and  very  white,  plump  hands.  He  was  dressed  in 
the  black  clothes  of  a  Spanish  judge.    On  his  round  face  there  was 

65 


66  ROMANCE 

always  a  smile  like  that  which  hangs  around  the  jaws  of  a  pike — 
only  more  humorous.  He  bowed  a  little  exaggeratedly  to  me  and 
said: 

"  Ah,  ye  are  that  famous  Mr.  Kemp." 

I  said  that  I  imagined  him  the  more  famous  Sefior  Juez  O'Brien. 

"  It's  little  use  saying  ye  arren't  famous,"  he  said.  His  voice 
had  the  faint,  infinitely  sweet  twang  of  certain  Irishry;  a  thing  as 
delicate  and  intangible  as  the  scent  of  lime  flowers.  "  Our  noble 
friend  " — he  indicated  Carlos  with  a  little  flutter  of  one  white 
hand — "has  told  me  what  make  of  a  dare-devil  gallant  ye  are; 
breaking  the  skulls  of  half  the  Bow  Street  runners  for  the  sake  of 
a  friend  in  distress.  Well,  I  honor  ye  for  it;  I've  done  as  much 
myself."     He  added,  "  In  the  old  days,"  and  sighed. 

"  You  mean  in  the  '98,"  I  said,  a  little  insolently. 

O'Brien's  eyes  twinkled.  He  had,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  nearly 
lost  his  neck  in  the  Irish  fiasco,  either  in  Clonmel  or  Sligo,  bolting 
violently  from  the  English  dragoons,  in  the  mist,  to  a  French  man- 
of-war's  boats  in  the  bay.  To  him,  even  though  he  was  now  a  judge 
in  Cuba,  it  was  an  episode  of  heroism  of  youth — of  romance,  in 
fact.  So  that,  probably,  he  did  not  resent  my  mention  of  it.  I 
certainly  wanted  to  resent  something  that  was  slighting  in  his  voice, 
and  patronizing  in  his  manner. 

The  old  Don  slumbered  placidly,  his  face  turned  up  to  the 
distant  begrimed  ceiling. 

"  Now,  I'll  make  you  a  fair  offer,"  O'Brien  said  suddenly,  after 
an  intent  study  of  the  insolent  glance  that  I  gave  him.  I  disliked 
him  because  I  knew  nothing  about  the  sort  of  man  he  was.  He 
was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  more  alien  to  me  than  Carlos.  And  he 
gave  me  the  impression  that,  if  perhaps  he  were  not  absolutely  the 
better  man,  he  could  still  make  a  fool  of  me,  or  at  least  make  me 
look  like  a  fool. 

"I'm  told  you  are  a  Separationist,"  he  said.  "  Well,  it's  like 
me.  I  am  an  Irishman;  there  has  been  a  price  on  my  head  in  an- 
other island.  And  there  are  warrants  out  against  you  here  for 
assaulting  the  admiral.  We  can  work  together,  and  there's  nothing 
low  in  what  I  have  in  my  mind  for  you." 

He  had  heard  frequently  from  Carlos  that  I  was  a  desperate  and 
aristocratically  lawless  young  man,  who  had  lived   in  a  district 


PART  SECOND  67 

entirely  given  up  to  desperate  and  murderous  smugglers.  But  this 
was  the  first  I  had  heard  definitely  of  warrants  against  me  in 
Jamaica.  That,  no  doubt,  he  had  heard  from  Ramon,  who  knew 
everything.  In  all  this  little  sardonic  Irishman  said  to  me,  it 
seemed  the  only  thing  worth  attention.  It  scuck  in  my  mind  while, 
in  persuasive  tones,  and  with  airy  fluency,  he  discoursed  of  the 
profits  that  could  be  made,  nowadays,  in  arming  privateers  under 
the  Mexican  flag.  He  told  me  I  needn't  be  surprised  at  their  being 
fitted  out  in  a  Spanish  colony.  "  There's  more  than  one  aspect  to 
disloyalty  like  this,"  said  he  dispassionately,  but  with  a  quick  wink 
contrasting  with  his  tone. 

Spain  resented  our  recognition  of  their  rebellious  colonies.  And 
with  the  same  cool  persuasiveness,  relieved  by  humorous  smiles,  he 
explained  that  the  loyal  Spaniards  of  the  Ever  Faithful  Island 
thought  there  was  no  sin  in  doing  harm  to  the  English,  even  under 
the  Mexican  flag,  whose  legal  existence  they  did  not  recognize. 

"  Mind  ye,  it's  an  organized  thing,  I  have  something  to  say  in  it. 
It  hurts  Mr.  Canning's  Government  at  home,  the  curse  of  Crom- 
well on  him  and  them.  They  will  be  dropping  some  of  their  own 
colonies  directly.  And  as  you  are  a  Separationist,  small  blame  to 
you,  and  I  am  an  Irishman,  we  shan't  cry  our  eyes  out  over  it. 
Come,  Mr.  Kemp,  'tis  all  for  the  good  of  the  Cause  .  .  .  And 
there's  nothing  low.  You  are  a  gentleman,  and  I  wouldn't  propose 
anything  that  was.  The  very  best  people  in  Havana  are  interested 
in  the  matter.  Our  schooners  lie  in  Rio  Medio,  but  I  can't  be 
there  all  the  time  myself." 

Surprise  deprived  me  of  speech.  I  glanced  at  Carlos.  He  was 
watching  us  inscrutably.  The  young  girl  touched  the  lizard  gently, 
but  it  was  too  frightened  to  move.  O'Brien,  with  shrewd  glances, 
rocked  his  chair.  .  .  .  What  did  I  want?  he  inquired.  To  see 
life?  What  he  proposed  was  the  life  for  a  fine  young  fellow  like 
me.  Moreover,  I  was  half  Scotch.  Had  I  forgotten  the  wrongs 
of  my  own  country.    Had  I  forgotten  the  '45  ? 

"  You'll  have  heard  tell  of  a  Scotch  Chief  Justice  whose  son 
spent  in  Amsterdam  the  money  his  father  earned  on  the  justice  seat 
in  Edinb'ro' — money  paid  for  rum  and  run  silks   .   .   ." 

Of  course  I  had  heard  of  it ;  everybody  had ;  but  it  had  been 
some  years  before. 


68  ROMANCE 

"  We're  backwards  hereabouts,"  O'Brien  jeered.  "  But  over 
there  they  winked  and  chuckled  at  the  judge,  and  they  do  the  same 
in  Havana  at  us." 

Suddenly  from  behind  us  the  voice  of  the  young  girl  said,  "  Of 
what  do  you  discourse,  my  English  cousin  ?  " 

O'Brien  interposed  deferentially.  "  Senorita,  I  ask  him  to  come 
to  Rio,"  he  said. 

She  turned  her  large  dark  eyes  scrutinizingly  upon  me,  then 
dropped  them  again.  She  was  arranging  some  melon  seeds  in  a 
rayed  circle  round  the  lizard  that  looked  motionlessly  at  her. 

"  Do  not  speak  very  loudly,  lest  you  awaken  my  father,"  she 
warned  us. 

The  old  Don's  face  was  still  turned  to  the  ceiling.  Carlos, 
standing  behind  his  chair,  opened  his  mouth  a  little  in  a  half  smile. 
I  was  really  angry  with  O'Brien  by  that  time,  with  his  air  of 
omniscience,  superiority,  and  self-content,  as  if  he  were  talking 
to  a  child  or  someone  very  credulous  and  weak-minded. 

"  What  right  have  you  to  speak  for  me,  Senor  Juez?  "  I  said  in 
the  best  Spanish  I  could. 

The  young  girl  looked  at  me  once  more,  and  then  again  looked 
down. 

"  Oh,  I  can  speak  for  you,"  he  answered  in  English,  "  because  I 
know.  Your  position's  this."  He  sat  down  in  his  rocking  chair, 
crossed  his  legs,  and  looked  at  me  as  if  he  expected  me  to  show 
signs  of  astonishment  at  his  knowing  so  much.  "  You're  in  a  hole. 
You  must  leave  this  island  of  Jamaica — surely  it's  as  distressful  as 
my  own  dear  land — and  you  can't  go  home,  because  the  runners 
would  be  after  you.  You're  '  wanted  '  here  as  well  as  there,  and 
you've  nowhere  to  go." 

I  looked  at  him,  quite  startled  by  this  view  of  my  case.  He  ex- 
tended one  plump  hand  towards  me,  and  still  further  lowered  his 
voice. 

"  Now,  I  offer  you  a  good  berth,  a  snug  berth.  And  'tis  a  pretty 
spot."  He  got  a  sort  of  languorous  honey  into  his  voice,  and 
drawled  out,  "  The — the  Senorita's."  He  took  an  air  of  business- 
like candor.  "  You  can  help  us,  and  we  you ;  we  could  do  without 
you  better  than  you  without  us.  Our  undertaking — there's  big 
names  in  it,  just  as  in  the  Free  Trading  you  know  so  well,  don't  be 


PART  SECOND  69 

saying  you  don't — is  worked  from  Havana.  What  we  need  is  a 
man  we  can  trust.  We  had  one — Nichols.  You  remember  the  mate 
of  the  ship  you  came  over  in.  He  was  Nicola  el  Demonio ;  he  won't 
be  any  longer — I  can't  tell  you  why,  it's  too  long  a  story." 

I  did  remember  very  vividly  that  cadaverous  Nova  Scotian  mate 
of  the  Thames,  who  had  warned  me  with  truculent  menaces 
against  showing  my  face  in  Rio  Medio.  I  remembered  his 
sallow,  shiny  cheeks,  and  the  exaggerated  gestures  of  his  claw- 
like hands. 

O'Brien  smiled.  "  Nichols  is  alive  right  enough,  but  no  more 
good  than  if  he  were  dead.  And  that's  the  truth.  He  pretends 
his  nerve's  gone;  he  was  a  devil  among  tailors  for  a  time,  but  he's 
taken  to  crying  now.  It  was  when  your  blundering  old  admiral's 
boats  had  to  be  beaten  off  that  his  zeal  cooled.  He  thinks  the 
British  Government  will  rise  in  its  strength."  There  was  a  bitter 
contempt  in  his  voice,  but  he  regained  his  calm  business  tone.  "  It 
will  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  I've  given  them  those  seven  poor  devils 
that  had  to  die  to-day  without  absolution.  So  Nichols  is  done  for, 
as  far  as  we  are  concerned.  I've  got  him  put  away  to  keep  him 
from  blabbing.  You  can  have  his  place — and  better  than  his  place. 
He  was  only  a  sailor,  which  you  are  not.  However,  you  know 
enough  of  ships,  and  what  we  want  is  a  man  with  courage,  of 
course,  but  also  a  man  we  can  trust.  Any  of  the  Creoles  would  bolt 
into  the  bush  the  moment  they'd  five  dollars  in  hand.  We'll  pay 
you  well ;  a  large  share  of  all  you  take." 

I  laughed  outright.  "  You're  quite  mistaken  in  your  man,"  I 
said.     "  You  are,  really." 

He  shook  his  head  gently,  and  brushed  an  invisible  speck  from 
his  plump  black  knees. 

"  You  must  go  somewhere,"  he  said.     "  Why  not  go  with  us?  " 

I  looked  at  him,  puzzled  by  his  tenacity  and  assurance. 

"  Ramon  here  has  told  us  you  battered  the  admiral  last  night; 
and  there's  a  warrant  out  already  against  you  for  attempted  mur- 
der. You're  hand  and  glove  with  the  best  of  the  Separationists  in 
this  island,  I  know,  but  they  won't  save  you  from  being  committed 
— for  rebellion,  perhaps.  You  know  it  as  well  as  I  do.  You  were 
down  here  to  take  a  passage  to-day,  weren't  you,  now?  " 

I  remembered  that  the  Island  Loyalists  said  that  the  pirates  and 


70  ROMANCE 

Separationists  worked  together  to  bother  the  admiral  and  raise 
discontent.  Living  in  the  center  of  Separationist  discontent  with 
the  Macdonalds,  I  knew  it  was  not  true.  But  nothing  was  too  bad 
to  say  against  the  planters  who  clamored  for  union  with  the  United 
States. 

O'Brien  leaned  forward.  His  voice  had  a  note  of  disdain,  and 
then  took  one  of  deeper  earnestness;  it  sank  into  his  chest.  He 
extended  his  hand ;  his  eyebrows  twitched.  He  looked — he  was — 
a  conspirator. 

"  I  tell  you  I  do  it  for  the  sake  of  Ireland,"  he  said  passionately. 
"  Every  ship  we  take,  every  clamor  they  raise  here,  is  a  stroke  and 
is  disgrace  for  them  over  there  that  have  murdered  us  and  ruined 
my  own  dear  land."  His  face  worked  convulsively;  I  w^as  in 
presence  of  one  of  the  primeval  passions.  But  he  grew  calm  imme- 
diately after.  "  You  want  Separation  for  reasons  of  your  own.  I 
don't  ask  what  they  are.  No  doubt  you  and  your  crony  Macdonald 
and  the  rest  of  them  will  feather  your  own  nests ;  I  don't  ask.  But 
help  me  to  be  a  thorn  in  their  sides — just  a  little — just  a  little 
longer.  What  do  I  put  in  your  way?  Just  what  you  want.  Have 
your  Jamaica  joined  to  the  United  States.  You'll  be  able  to  come 
back  with  your  pockets  full,  and  I'll  be  joyful — for  the  sake  of  my 
own  dear  land." 

I  said  suddenly  and  recklessly — if  I  had  to  face  one  race-passion, 
he  had  to  look  at  another ;  we  were  cat  and  dog — Celt  and  Saxon, 
as  it  was  in  the  beginning: 

"  I  am  not  a  traitor  to  my  country." 

Then  I  realized  with  sudden  concern  that  I  had  probably  awak- 
ened the  old  Don.  He  stirred  uneasily  in  his  chair,  and  lifted  one 
hand. 

"  The  moment  I  go  out  from  here  I'll  denounce  you,"  I  said  very 
low;  "  I  swear  I  will.  You're  here;  you  can't  get  away;  you'll 
swing." 

O'Brien  started.  His  eyes  blazed  at  me.  Then  he  frowned. 
"  I've  been  misled,"  he  muttered,  with  a  dark  glance  at  Carlos. 
And  recovering  his  jocular  serenity,  "Ye  mean  it?"  he  asked; 
"  it's  not  British  heroics?  " 

The  old  Don  stirred  again  and  sighed. 

The  young  girl  glided  swiftly  to  his  side.   "  Senor  O'Brien,"  she 


PART  SECOND  71 

said,  "  you  haveso  irritated  my  English  cousin  that  he  has  awakened 
my  father." 

O'Brien  grinned  gently.  "  'Tis  ever  the  way,"  he  said  sardon- 
ically. "  The  English  fools  do  the  harm  and  the  Irish  fool  gets 
the  kicking."  He  rose  to  his  feet,  quite  collected,  a  spick-and-span 
little  man.  "  I  suppose  I've  said  too  much.  Well,  well!  You  are 
going  to  denounce  the  senior  judge  of  the  Marine  Court  of  Havana 
as  a  pirate.  I  wonder  who  will  believe  you!  "  He  went  behind 
the  old  Don's  chair  with  the  gliding  motion  of  a  Spanish  lawyer, 
and  slipped  down  the  open  trap-hatch  near  the  window. 

It  was  the  disappearance  of  a  shadow.  I  heard  some  guttural 
mutterings  come  up  through  the  hatch,  a  rustling,  then  silence.  If 
he  was  afraid  of  me  at  all  he  carried  it  off  very  well.  I  apologized 
to  the  young  girl  for  having  awakened  her  father.  Her  color  was 
very  high,  and  her  eyes  sparkled.  If  she  had  not  been  so  very 
beautiful  I  should  have  gone  away  at  once.    She  said  angrily: 

"  He  is  odious  to  me,  the  Seiior  Juez.  Too  long  my  father  has 
suffered  his  insolence."  She  was  very  small,  but  she  had  an  extraor- 
dinary dignity  of  command.  "  I  could  see,  Senor,  that  he  was 
annoying  you.  Why  should  you  consider  such  a  creature?  "  Her 
head  drooped,    "  But  my  father  is  very  old." 

I  turned  upon  Carlos,  who  stood  all  black  in  the  light  of  the 
window. 

"Why  did  you  make  me  meet  him?  He  may  be  a  judge  of 
your  Marine  Court,  but  he's  nothing  but  a  scoundrelly  bog- 
trotter." 

Carlos  said  a  little  haughtily,  "  You  must  not  denounce  him. 
You  should  not  leave  this  place  if  I  feared  you  would  try  thus  to 
bring  dishonor  on  this  gray  head,  and  involve  this  young  girl  in  a 
public  scandal."  His  manner  became  soft.  "  For  the  honor  of  the 
house  you  shall  say  nothing.  And  you  shall  come  with  us.  I  need 
you." 

I  was  full  of  mistrust  now.  If  he  did  countenance  this  unlawful 
enterprise,  whose  headquarters  were  in  Rio  Medio,  he  was  not  the 
man  for  me.  Though  it  was  big  enough  to  be  made,  by  the  papers 
at  home,  of  political  importance,  it  was,  after  all,  neither  more  nor 
less  than  piracy.  The  idea  of  my  turning  a  sort  of  Irish  traitor 
was  so  extravagantly  outrageous    that  now  I  could  smile  at  the 


72  ROMANCE 

imbecility  of  that  fellow  O'Brien.  As  to  turning  into  a  sea-thief 
for  lucre — my  blood  boiled. 

No.  There  was  something  else  there.  Something  deep;  some- 
thing dangerous;  some  intrigue,  that  I  could  not  conceive  even  the 
first  notion  of.  But  that  Carlos  wanted  anxiously  to  make  use  of 
me  for  some  purpose  was  clear.  I  was  mystified  to  the  point  of 
forgetting  how  heavily  I  was  compromised  even  in  Jamaica,  though 
it  was  worth  remembering,  because  at  that  time  an  indictment  for 
rebellion — under  the  Black  Act — was  no_joking  matter.  I  might 
be  sent  home  under  arrest ;  and  even  then,  there  was  my  affair  with 
the  runners. 

"  It  is  coming  to  pay  a  visit,"  he  was  saying  persuasively,  "  while 
your  affair  here  blows  over,  my  Juan — and — and — making  my  last 
hours  easy,  perhaps." 

I  looked  at  him ;  he  was  worn  to  a  shadow — a  shadow  with  dark, 
wistful  eyes.    "  I  don't  understand  you,"  I  faltered. 

The  old  man  stirred,  opened  his  lids,  and  put  a  gold  vinaigrette 
to  his  nostrils. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  not  denounce  O'Brien,"  I  said.  "  I,  too, 
respect  the  honor  of  your  house." 

"  You  are  even  better  than  I  thought  you.  And  if  I  entreat  you, 
for  the  love  of  your  mother — of  your  sister?  Juan,  it  is  not  for 
myself,  it  is " 

The  young  girl  was  pouring  some  drops  from  a  green  phial  into 
a  silver  goblet ;  she  passed  close  to  us,  and  handed  it  to  her  father, 
who  had  leant  a  little  forward  in  his  chair.  Every  movement  of 
hers  affected  me  with  an  intimate  joy;  it  was  as  if  I  had  been 
waiting  to  see  just  that  carriage  of  the  neck,  just  that  proud  glance 
from  the  eyes,  just  that  droop  of  eyelashes  upon  the  cheeks,  for 
years  and  years. 

"  No,  I  shall  hold  my  tongue,  and  that's  enough,"  I  said. 

At  that  moment  the  old  Don  sat  up  and  cleared  his  throat. 
Carlos  sprang  towards  him  with  an  infinite  grace  of  tender  obse- 
quiousness. He  mentioned  my  name  and  the  relationship,  then 
rehearsed  the  innumerable  titles  of  his  uncle,  ending  "  and  patron 
of  the  Bishopric  of  Pinar  del  Rio." 

I  stood  stiffly  in  front  of  the  old  man.  He  bowed  his  head  at 
intervals,  holding  the  silver  cup  carefully  whilst  his  chair  rocked 


PART  SECOND  73 

a  little.  When  Carlos'  mellow  voice  had  finished  the  rehearsing  of 
the  sonorous  styles,  I  mumbled  something  about  "  transcendent 
honor." 

He  stopped  me  with  a  little,  deferentially  peremptory  gesture  of 
one  hand,  and  began  to  speak,  smiling  with  a  contraction  of  the  lips 
and  a  trembling  of  the  head.  His  voice  was  very  low,  and  quav- 
ered slightly,  but  every  syllable  was  enunciated  with  the  same 
beauty  of  clearness  that  there  was  in  his  features,  in  his  hands,  in 
his  ancient  gestures. 

"  The  honor  is  to  me,"  he  said,  "  and  the  pleasure.  I  behold  my 
kinsman,  who,  with  great  heroism,  I  am  told,  rescued  my  dearly 
loved  nephew  from  great  dangers;  it  is  an  honor  to  me  to  be  able 
to  give  him  thanks.  My  beloved  and  lamented  sister  contracted  a 
union  with  an  English  hidalgo,  through  whose  house  your  own 
very  honorable  family  is  allied  to  my  own ;  it  is  a  pleasure  to  me  to 
meet  after  many  years  with  one  who  has  seen  the  places  where  her 
later  life  was  passed." 

He  paused,  and  breathed  with  some  difficulty,  as  if  the  speech  had 
exhausted  him.  Afterwards  he  began  to  ask  me  questions  about 
Rooksby's  aunt — the  lamented  sister  of  his  speech.  He  had  loved 
her  greatly,  he  said.  I  knew  next  to  nothing  about  her,  and  his 
fine  smile  and  courtly,  aged,  deferential  manners  made  me  very 
nervous.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  taken  to  pay  a  ceremonial  visit 
to  a  supreme  pontiff  in  his  dotage.  He  spoke  about  Horton  Priory 
with  some  animation  for  a  little  while,  and  then  faltered,  and  forgot 
what  he  was  speaking  of.     Suddenly  he  said : 

"  But  where  is  O'Brien?  Did  he  write  to  the  Governor  here? 
I  should  like  you  to  know  the  Senor  O'Brien.  He  is  a  spiritual 
man." 

I  forbore  to  say  that  I  had  already  seen  O'Brien,  and  the  old 
man  sank  into  complete  silence.  It  was  beginning  to  grow  dark, 
and  the  noise  of  suppressed  voices  came  from  the  open  trap-door. 
Nobody  said  anything. 

I  felt  a  sort  of  uneasiness ;  I  could  by  no  means  understand  the 
connection  between  the  old  Don  and  what  had  gone  before,  and  I 
did  not,  in  a  purely  conventional  sense,  know  how  long  I  ought  to 
stop.    The  sky  through  the  barred  windows  had  grown  pallid. 

The  old  Don  said  suddenly,  "  You  must  visit  my  poor  town  of 


74  ROMANCE 

Rio  Medio,"  but  he  gave  no  specific  invitation  and  said  nothing 
more. 

Afterwards  he  asked,  rather  querulously,  "  But  where  is 
O'Brien?    He  must  write  those  letters  for  me." 

The  young  girl  said,  "  He  has  preceded  us  to  the  ship ;  he  will 
write  there." 

She  had  gone  back  to  her  seat.  Don  Balthasar  shrugged  his 
shoulders  to  his  ears,  and  moved  his  hands  from  his  knees. 

"  Without  doubt,  he  knows  best,"  he  said;  "  but  he  should  ask 
me." 

It  grew  darker  still ;  the  old  Don  seemed  to  have  fallen  asleep 
again.  Save  for  the  gleam  of  the  silver  buckle  of  his  hat,  he  had 
disappeared  into  the  gloom  of  the  place.  I  remembered  my  en- 
gagement to  dine  with  Williams  on  board  the  Lion,  and  I  rose  to 
my  feet.  There  did  not  seem  to  be  any  chance  of  my  talking  to  the 
young  girl.  She  was  once  more  leaning  nonchalantly  over  the 
lizard,  and  her  hair  drooped  right  across  her  face  like  clusters  of 
grapes.  There  was  a  gleam  on  a  little  piece  of  w^hite  forehead,  and 
all  around  and  about  her  there  w^ere  shadows  deepening.  Carlos 
came  concernedly  towards  me  as  I  looked  at  the  door. 

"  But  you  must  not  go  yet,"  he  said  a  little  suavely;  "  I  have 
many  things  to  say.    Tell  me " 

His  manner  heightened  my  uneasiness  to  a  fear.  The  expression 
of  his  eyes  changed,  and  they  became  fixed  over  my  shoulder,  while 
on  his  lips  the  words  "  You  must  come,  you  must  come,"  trembled, 
hardly  audible.  I  could  only  shake  my  head.  At  once  he  stepped 
back  as  if  resigning.  He  was  giving  me  up — and  it  occurred  to  me 
that  if  the  danger  of  his  seduction  was  over,  there  remained  the 
danger  of  arrest  just  outside  the  door. 

Someone  behind  me  said  peremptorily,  "  It  is  time,"  and  there 
was  a  flickering  diminution  of  the  light.  I  had  a  faint  instanta- 
neous view  of  the  old  Don  dozing,  with  his  head  back — of  the  tall 
windows,  cut  up  into  squares  by  the  black  bars.  Something  hairily 
coarse  ran  harshly  down  my  face ;  I  grew  blind ;  my  mouth,  my 
eyes,  my  nostrils  were  filled  with  dust;  my  breath  shut  in  upon  me 
became  a  flood  of  warm  air.  I  had  no  time  to  resist.  I  kicked  my 
legs  convulsively;  my  elbows  were  drawn  tight  against  my  sides. 
Someone  grunted  under  my  weight;  then  I  was  carried — down, 


PART  SECOND  75 

along,  up,  down  again ;  my  feet  were  knocking  along  a  wall,  and 
the  top  of  my  head  rubbed  occasionally  against  what  must  have 
been  the  roof  of  a  low  stone  passage,  issuing  from  under  the  back 
room  of  Ramon's  store.  Finally,  I  was  dropped  upon  something 
that  felt  like  a  heap  of  wood-shavings.  My  surprise,  rage,  and 
horror  had  been  so  great  that,  after  the  first  stifled  cry,  I  had  made 
no  sound.    I  heard  the  footsteps  of  several  men  going  away. 


CHAPTER  IV 

I  REMAINED  lying  there,  bound  hand  and  foot,  for  a  long 
time;  for  quite  long  enough  to  allow  me  to  collect  my  senses 
and  see  that  I  had  been  a  fool  to  threaten  O'Brien.  I  had 
been  nobly  indignant,  and  behold !  I  had  a  sack  thrown  over  my 
head  for  my  pains,  and  was  put  away  safely  somewhere  or  other. 
It  seemed  to  be  a  cellar. 

I  was  in  search  of  romance,  and  here  were  all  the  elements; 
Spaniards,  a  conspirator,  and  a  kidnaping;  but  I  couldn't  feel  a 
fool  and  romantic  as  well.  True  romance,  I  suppose,  needs  a 
whirl  of  emotions  to  extinguish  all  the  senses  except  that  of  sight, 
which  it  dims.  Except  for  sight,  which  I  hadn't  at  all,  I  had  the 
use  of  them  all,  and  all  reported  unpleasant  things. 

I  ached  and  smarted  with  my  head  in  a  sack,  with  my  mouth 
full  of  flour  that  had  gone  moldy  and  offended  my  nostrils ;  I  had 
a  sense  of  ignominy,  and  I  was  extremely  angry;  I  could  see  that 
the  old  Don  was  in  his  dotage — but  Carlos  I  was  bitter  against. 

I  was  not  really  afraid ;  I  could  not  suppose  that  the  Riegos 
would  allow  me  to  be  murdered  or  seriously  maltreated.  But  I  was 
incensed  against  Fate  or  Chance  or  whatever  it  is— on  account  of 
the  ignominious  details,  the  coarse  sack,  the  moldy  flour,  the  stones 
of  the  tunnel  that  had  barked  my  shins,  the  tightness  of  the  ropes 
that  bound  my  ankles  together,  and  seemed  to  cut  into  my  wrists 
behind  my  back. 

I  waited,  and  my  fury  grew  in  a  dead  silence.  How  would  it 
end — ^with  what  outrage?  I  would  show  my  contempt  and  pre- 
serve my  dignity  by  submitting  without  a  struggle — I  despised  this 
odious  plot.  At  last  there  were  voices,  footsteps;  I  found  it  very 
hard  to  carry  out  my  resolution  and  refrain  from  stifled  cries  and 
kicks.  I  was  lifted  up  and  carried,  like  a  corpse,  with  many 
stumbles,  by  men  who  sometimes  growled  as  they  hastened  along. 
From  time  to  time  somebody  murmured  "  Take  care."  Then  I 
was  deposited  into  a  boat.     The  world  seemed  to  be  swaying, 

76 


PART  SECOND  77 

splashing,  jarring — and  it  became  obvious  to  me  that  I  was  being 
taken  to  some  ship.  The  Spanish  ship,  of  course.  Suddenly  I 
broke  into  cold  perspiration  at  the  thought  that,  after  all,  their 
purpose  might  be  to  drop  me  quickly  overboard.  "Carlos!"  I 
cried.  I  felt  the  point  of  a  knife  on  my  breast.  "  Silence,  seiior!  " 
said  a  gruff  voice. 

This  fear  vanished  when  we  came  alongside  a  ship  evidently 
already  under  way;  but  I  was  handled  so  roughly  and  clumsily 
that  I  was  thoroughly  exhausted  and  out  of  breath,  by  the  time 
I  was  got  on  board.  All  was  still  around  me;  I  was  left  alone  on 
a  settee  in  the  main  cabin,  as  I  imagined.  For  a  long  time  I  made 
no  movement;  then  a  door  opened  and  shut.  There  was  a  mur- 
mured conversation  between  two  voices.  This  went  on  in  animated 
whispers  for  a  time.  At  last  I  felt  as  if  someone  were  trying,  rather 
ineffectually,  to  remove  the  sack  itself.  Finally,  that  actually  did 
rub  its  way  over  my  head,  and  something  soft  and  silken 
began  to  wipe  my  eyes  with  a  surprising  care,  and  even  tender- 
ness. "This  was  stupidly  done,"  came  a  discontented  remark; 
"  you  do  not  handle  a  caballero  like  this." 

"And  how  else  was  it  to  be  done,  to  that  kind  of  caballero?" 
was  the  curt  retort. 

By  that  time  I  had  blinked  my  eyes  into  a  condition  for  re- 
maining open  for  minute  stretches.  Two  men  were  bending  over 
me — Carlos  and  O'Brien  himself.     The  latter  said: 

"  Believe  me,  your  mistake  made  this  necessary.  This  young 
gentleman  was  about  to  become  singularly  inconvenient,  and  he  is 
in  no  way  harmed." 

He  spoke  in  a  velvety  voice,  and  walked  away  gently  through 
the  darkness.  Carlos  followed  with  the  lantern  dangling  at  arm's 
length ;  strangely  enough  he  had  not  even  looked  at  me.  I  suppose 
he  was  ashamed,  and  I  was  too  proud  to  speak  to  him,  with  my 
hands  and  feet  tied  fast.  The  door  closed,  and  I  remained  sitting 
in  the  darkness.  Long  small  windows  grew  into  light  at  one  end 
of  the  place,  curved  into  an  outline  that  suggested  a  deep  recess. 
The  figure  of  a  crowned  woman,  that  moved  rigidly  up  and  dow^n, 
was  silhouetted  over  my  body.  Groaning  creaks  of  wood  and  the 
faint  swish  of  water  made  themselves  heard  continuously. 

I  turned  my  head  to  a  click,  I  saw  a  door  open  a  little  way,  and 


78  ROMANCE 

the  small  blue  flame  of  a  taper  floated  into  the  room.  Then  the 
door  closed  with  a  definite  sound  of  shutting  in.  The  light  shone 
redly  through  protecting  fingers,  and  upwards  on  to  a  small  face. 
It  came  to  a  halt,  and  I  made  out  the  figure  of  a  girl  leaning  across 
a  table  and  looking  upwards.  There  was  a  click  of  glass,  and  then 
a  great  blaze  of  light  created  a  host  of  shining  things ;  a  glitter  of 
gilded  carvings,  red  velvet  couches,  a  shining  table,  a  low  ceiling, 
painted  white,  on  carved  rafters.  A  large  silver  lamp  she  had 
lighted  kept  on  swinging  to  the  gentle  motion  of  the  ship. 

She  stood  just  in  front  of  me ;  the  girl  that  I  had  seen  through  the 
door;  the  girl  I  had  seen  play  with  the  melon  seeds.  She  was 
breathing  fast — it  agitated  me  to  be  alone  with  her — and  she  had 
a  little  shining  dagger  in  her  hand. 

She  cut  the  rope  round  my  ankles,  and  motioned  me  imperiously 
to  turn  round. 

"  Your  hands — your  hands!  " 

I  turned  my  back  awkwardly  to  her,  and  felt  the  grip  of  small, 
cool,  very  firm  fingers  upon  my  wrists.  My  arms  fell  apart,  numb 
and  perfectly  useless;  I  was  half  aware  of  pain  in  them,  but  it 
passed  unnoticed  among  a  cloud  of  other  emotions.  I  didn't  feel 
my  finger-tips  because  I  had  the  agitation,  the  flutter,  the  tantaliza- 
tion  of  looking  at  her. 

I  was  all  the  while  conscious  of  the — say,  the  irregularity  of  my 
position,  but  I  felt  very  little  fear.  There  were  the  old  Don,  an 
ineffectual,  silver-haired  old  gentleman,  who  obviously  was  not  a 
pirate;  the  sleek  O'Brien,  and  Carlos,  who  seemed  to  cough  on  the 
edge  of  a  grave — and  this- young  girl.  There  was  not  any  future 
that  I  could  conceive,  and  the  past  seemed  to  be  cut  off  from  me  by 
a  narrow,  very  dark  tunnel  through  which  I  could  see  nothing 
at  all. 

The  young  girl  was,  for  the  moment,  what  counted  most  on  the 
whole,  the  only  thing  the  eye  could  rest  on.  She  affected  me  as  an 
apparition  familiar,  yet  absolutely  new  in  her  charm.  I  had  seen 
her  gray  eyes ;  I  had  seen  her  red  lips ;  her  dark  hair,  her  lithe  ges- 
tures ;  the  carriage  of  her  head ;  her  throat,  her  hands.  I  knew 
her;  I  seemed  to  have  known  her  for  years.  A  rush  of  strange, 
sweet  feeling  made  me  dumb.  She  was  looking  at  me,  her  lips  set, 
her  eyes  wide  and  still ;  and  suddenly  she  said : 


PART  SECOND  79 

"  Ask  nothing.  The  land  is  not  far  yet.  You  can  escape,  Carlos 
thought.  .  .  .  But  no!  You  would  only  perish  for  nothing.  Go 
with  God."  She  pointed  imperiously  towards  the  square  stern- 
ports  of  the  cabin. 

Following  the  direction  of  her  hand,  my  eyes  fell  upon  the  image 
of  a  Madonna;  a  rather  large — perhaps  a  third  life-size;  with  a  gilt 
crown,  a  pink  serious  face  bent  a  little  forward  over  a  pink  naked 
child  that  perched  on  her  left  arm  and  raised  one  hand.  It  stood 
on  a  bracket,  against  the  rudder  casing,  with  fat  cherubs'  heads 
carved  on  the  supports.  The  young  girl  crossed  herself  with  a 
swift  motion  of  the  hand.  The  stern-ports,  glazed  in  small  panes, 
were  black,  and  gleaming  in  a  white  frame-work. 

"  Go — go — go  with  God,"  the  girl  whispered  urgently.  "  There 
is  a  boat " 

I  made  a  motion  to  rise;  I  wanted  to  gb.  The  idea  of  having 
my  liberty,  of  its  being  again  a  possibility,  made  her  seem  of  less 
importance ;  other  things  began  to  have  their  share.  But  I  could 
not  stand,  though  the  blood  was  returning,  warm  and  tingling,  in 
my  legs  and  hands.  She  looked  at  me  with  a  sharp  frown  pucker- 
ing her  brows  a  little ;  beat  a  hasty  tattoo  with  one  of  her  feet,  and 
cast  a  startled  glance  towards  the  forward  doors  that  led  on  deck. 
Then  she  walked  to  the  other  side  of  the  table,  and  sat  looking  at 
me  in  the  glow  of  the  lamp. 

"  Your  life  hangs  on  a  thread,"  she  murmured. 

I  answered,  "  You  have  given  it  to  me.     Shall  I  never " 

I  was  acutely  conscious  of  the  imperfection  of  my  language. 

She  looked  at  me  sharply;  then  lowered  her  lids.  Afterwards 
she   raised    them   again.      "  Think   of   yourself.      Every   moment 


"  I  will  be  as  quick  as  I  can,"  I  said. 

I  was  chafing  my  ankles  and  looking  up  at  her.  I  wanted,  very 
badly,  to  thank  her  for  taking  an  interest  in  me,  only  I  found 
it  very  difficult  to  speak  to  her.  Suddenly  she  sprang  to  her 
feet: 

"  That  man  thinks  he  can  destroy  you.  I  hate  him — I  detest 
him!    You  have  seen  how  he  treats  my  father." 

It  struck  me,  like  a  blow,  that  she  was  merely  avenging 
O'Brien's  insolence  to  her  father.     I  had  been  kidnaped  against 


8o  ROMANCE 

Don  Balthasar  Riego's  will.  It  gave  me  very  well  the  measure  of 
the  old  man's  powerlessness  in  face  of  his  intendant — who  was 
obviously  confident  of  afterwards  soothing  the  resentment. 

I  was  glad  I  had  not  thanked  her  for  taking  an  interest  in  me. 
I  was  distressed,  too,  because  once  more  I  had  missed  Romance  by 
an  inch. 

Someone  kicked  at  the  locked  door.  A  voice  cried — I  could  not 
help  thinking — warningly,  "  Seraphina,  Seraphina,"  and  another 
voice  said  with  excessive  softness,  ^'Senorita!  Voyons!  quelle 
folier 

She  sprang  at  me.  Her  hand  hurt  my  wrist  as  she  dragged  me 
aft.  I  scrambled  clumsily  into  the  recess  of  the  counter,  and  put 
my  head  out.  The  night  air  was  very  chilly  and  full  of  brine ;  a 
little  boat  towing  by  a  long  painter  was  sheering  about  in  the  phos- 
phorescent wake  of  the  ship.  The  sea  itself  was  pallid  in  the  light 
of  the  moon,  invisible  to  me.  A  little  astern  of  us,  on  our  port 
quarter,  a  vessel  under  a  press  of  canvas  seemed  to  stand  still; 
looming  up  like  an  immense  pale  ghost.  She  might  have  been 
coming  up  with  us,  or  else  we  had  just  passed  her — I  couldn't  tell. 
I  had  no  time  to  find  out,  and  I  didn't  care.  The  great  thing  was 
to  get  hold  of  the  painter.  The  whispers  of  the  girl  urged  me,  but 
the  thing  was  not  easy;  the  rope,  fastened  higher  up,  streamed 
away  out  of  reach  of  my  hand.  At  last,  by  watching  the  moment 
when  it  slacked,  and  throwing  myself  half  out  of  the  stern  window, 
I  managed  to  hook  it  with  my  finger-tips.  Next  moment  it  was 
nearly  jerked  away  from  me,  but  I  didn't  lose  it,  and  the  boat 
taking  a  run  just  then  under  the  counter,  I  got  a  good  hold.  The 
sound  of  another  kick  at  the  door  made  me  swing  myself  out,  head 
first,  without  reflection.  I  got  soused  to  the  waist  before  I  had 
reached  the  bows  of  the  boat.  With  a  frantic  effort  I  clambered  up 
and  rolled  in.  When  I  got  on  my  legs,  the  jerky  motion  of  tossing 
had  ceased,  the  boat  was  floating  still,  and  the  light  of  the  stern 
windows  was  far  away  already.  The  girl  had  managed  to  cut  the 
painter. 

The  other  vessel  was  heading  straight  for  me,  rather  high  on 
the  water,  broad-beamed,  squat,  and  making  her  way  quietly,  like 
a  shadow.  The  land  might  have  been  four  or  five  miles  away — 
I  had  no  means  of  knowing  exactly.     It  looked  like  a  high  black 


PART  SECOND  8i 

cloud,  and  purply-gray  mists  here  and  there  among  the  peaks  hung 
like  scarfs. 

I  got  an  oar  over  the  stern  to  scull,  but  I  was  not  fit  for  much 
exertion.  I  stared  at  the  ship  I  had  left.  Her  stern  windows 
glimmered  with  a  slight  up-and-down  motion ;  her  sails  seemed  to 
fall  into  black  confusion  against  the  blaze  of  the  moon ;  faint  cries 
came  to  me  out  of  her,  and  by  the  alteration  of  her  shape  I  under- 
stood that  she  was  being  brought  to,  preparatory  to  lowering  a  boat. 
She  might  have  been  half  a  mile  distant  when  the  gleam  of  her 
stern  windows  swung  slowly  round  and  went  out.  I  had  no  mind 
to  be  recaptured,  and  began  to  scull  frantically  towards  the  other 
vessel.  By  that  time  she  was  quite  near — near  enough  for  me  to 
hear  the  lazy  sound  of  the  water  at  her  bows,  and  the  occasional 
flutter  of  a  sail.  The  land  breeze  was  dying  away,  and  in  the  wake 
of  the  moon  I  perceived  the  boat  of  my  pursuers  coming  over,  black 
and  distinct;  but  the  other  vessel  was  nearly  upon  m.e.  I  sheered 
under  her  starboard  bow  and  yelled,  "  Ship  ahoy!     Ship  ahoy!  " 

There  was  a  lot  of  noise  on  board,  and  no  one  seemed  to  hear  my 
shouts.  Several  voices  yelled,  "  That  cursed  Spanish  ship  ahead 
is  heaving- to  athwart  our  hawse."  The  crew  and  the  officers 
seemed  all  to  be  forward  shouting  abuse  at  the  "  lubberly  Dago," 
and  it  looked  as  though  I  were  abandoned  to  my  fate.  The  ship 
forged  ahead  in  the  light  air;  I  failed  in  my  grab  at  her  fore 
chains,  and  my  boat  slipped  astern,  bumping  against  the  side.  I 
missed  the  main  chain,  too,  and  yelled  all  the  time  with  desperation, 
"  For  God's  sake!  Ship  ahoy!  For  God's  sake  throw  me  a  rope, 
somebody,  before  it's  too  late!  " 

I  was  giving  up  all  hope  when  a  heavy  coil — of  a  brace,  I  suppose 
■ — fell  upon  my  head,  nearly  knocking  me  over.  Flalf  stunned  as  I 
was,  desperation  lent  me  strength  to  scramble  up  her  side  hand  over 
hand,  while  the  boat  floated  away  from  under  my  feet.  I  was  done 
up  when  I  got  on  the  poop.  A  yell  came  from  forward,  "  Hard 
aport."  Then  the  same  voice  addressed  itself  to  abusing  the  Span- 
ish ship  very  close  to  us  now.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  coming- to 
right  across  my  bows  like  this?  "  it  yelled  in  a  fury. 

I  stood  still  in  the  shadows  on  the  poop.  We  were  drawing 
slowly  past  the  stern  of  the  Spaniard,  and  O'Brien's  voice  answered 
in  English: 


82  ROMANCE 

"  We  are  picking  up  a  boat  of  ours  that's  gone  adrift  with  a 
man.    Have  you  seen  anything  of  her?  " 

"  No — confound  you  and  your  boat." 

Of  course  those  forward  knew  nothing  of  my  being  on  board. 
The  man  who  had  thrown  me  the  rope — a  passenger,  a  certain 
Major  Cowper,  going  home  with  his  wife  and  child — had  walked 
away  proudly,  without  deigning  as  much  as  to  look  at  me  twice,  as 
if  to  see  a  man  clamber  on  board  a  ship  ten  miles  from  the  land 
was  the  most  usual  occurrence.  He  was,  I  found  afterwards,  an 
absurd,  pompous  person,  as  stiff  as  a  ramrod,  and  so  full  of  his 
own  importance  that  he  imagined  he  had  almost  demeaned  himself 
by  his  condescension  in  throwing  down  the  rope  in  answer  to  my 
despairing  cries.  On  the  other  hand,  the  helmsman,  the  only  other 
person  aft,  was  so  astounded  as  to  become  quite  speechless.  I 
could  see,  in  the  light  of  the  binnacle  thrown  upon  his  face,  his 
staring  eyes  and  his  open  mouth. 

The  voice  forward  had  subsided  by  then,  and  as  the  stern  of  the 
Spanish  ship  came  abreast  of  the  poop,  I  stepped  out  of  the  shadow 
of  the  sails,  and  going  close  to  the  rail  I  said,  not  very  loud — there 
was  no  need  to  shout — but  very  distinctly: 

"  I  am  out  of  your  clutches,  Mr.  O'Brien,  after  all.  I  promise 
you  that  you  shall  hear  of  me  yet." 

Meanwhile,  another  man  had  come  up  from  forward  on  the 
poop,  growling  like  a  bear,  a  short,  rotund  little  man,  the  captain 
of  the  ship.  The  Spanish  vessel  was  dropping  astern,  silent,  with 
her  sails  all  black,  hiding  the  low  moon.  Suddenly  a  hurried  hail 
came  out  of  her. 

"  What  ship  is  this?  " 

"  What's  that  to  you,  blank  your  eyes?  The  Breeze,  if  you  want 
to  know.  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  "  the  little  skipper 
shouted  fiercely.  In  the  light  wind  the  ships  were  separating 
slowly. 

"  Where  are  you  bound  to?  "  hailed  O'Brien's  voice  again. 

The  little  skipper  laughed  with  exasperation,  "  Dash  your 
blanked  impudence.  To  Havana,  and  be  hanged  to  you.  Any- 
thing more  you  want  to  know?  And  my  name's  Lumsden,  and  I 
am  sixty  years  old,  and  if  I  had  you  here,  I  would  put  a  head  on 
you  for  getting  in  my  way,  you " 


PART  SECOND  83 

He  stopped,  out  of  breath.  Then,  addressing  himself  to  his 
passenger : 

"  That's  the  Spanish  chartered  ship  that  brought  these  sanguin- 
ary pirates  that  were  hanged  this  morning,  major.  She's  taking 
the  Spanish  commissioner  back.  I  suppose  they  had  no  man-of- 
war  handy  for  the  service  in  Cuba.    Did  you  ever — ^ —  " 

He  had  caught  sight  of  me  for  the  first  time,  and  positively 
jumped  a  foot  high  with  astonishment. 

"  Who  on  earth's  tliat  there?  " 

His  astonishment  was  comprehensible.  The  major,  without 
deigning  to  enlighten  him,  walked  proudly  away.  He  was  too 
dignified  a  person  to  explain. 

It  was  left  to  me.  Frequenting,  as  I  had  been  doing,  Ramon's 
store,  which  was  a  great  gossiping  center  of  the  maritime  world 
in  Kingston,  I  knew  the  faces  and  the  names  of  most  of  the  mer- 
chant captains  who  used  to  gather  there  to  drink  and  swap  yarns. 
I  was  not  myself  quite  unknown  to  little  Lumsden.  I  told  him 
all  my  story,  and  all  the  time  he  kept  on  scratching  his  bald  head, 
full  of  incredulous  perplexity.  Old  Senor  Ramon !  Such  a  respec- 
table man.    And  I  had  been  kidnaped?    From  his  store! 

"  If  I  didn't  see  you  here  in  my  cuddy  before  my  eyes,  I  wouldn't 
believe  a  word  you  say,"  he  declared  absurdly. 

But  he  was  ready  enough  to  take  me  to  Havana.  However,  he 
insisted  upon  calling  down  his  mate,  a  gingery  fellow,  short,  too, 
but  wizened,  and  as  stupid  as  himself. 

"  Here's  that  Kemp,  you  know.  The  young  fellow  that  Mac- 
donald  of  the  Horton  Pen  had  picked  up  somewhere  two  years  ago. 
The  Spaniards  in  that  ship  kidnaped  him — so  he  says.  He  says 
they  are  pirates.  But  that's  a  government  chartered  ship,  and  all 
the  pirates  that  have  ever  been  in  her  were  hanged  this  morning  in 
Kingston.  But  here  he  is,  anyhow.  And  he  says  that  at  home  he 
had  throttled  a  Bow  Street  runner  before  he  went  off  with  the 
smugglers,  he  says.  Did  you  ever  hear  the  likes  of  it,  Mercer?  I 
shouldn't  think  he  was  telling  us  a  parcel  of  lies;  hey,  Mercer?  " 

And  the  two  grotesque  little  chaps  stood  nodding  their  heads  at 
me  sagaciously. 

"  He's  a  desperate  character,  then,"  said  Mercer  at  last,  cau- 
tiously.    "  This  morning,  the  very  last  thing  I  heard  ashore,  as  I 


84  ROMANCE 

went  to  fetch  the  fresh  beef  off,  is  that  he  had  been  assaulting  a 
justice  of  the  peace  on  the  highroad,  and  had  been  trying  to  knock 
down  the  admiral,  who  was  coming  down  to  town  in  a  chaise  with 
Mr.  Topnambo.  There's  a  warrant  out  against  him  under  the 
Black  Act,  sir." 

Then  he  brightened  up  considerably.  "So  he  must  have  been 
kidnaped  or  something  after  all,  sir,  or  he  would  be  in  chokey 
now." 

It  was  true,  after  all.  Romance  reserved  me  for  another  fate,  for 
another  sort  of  captivity,  for  more  than  one  sort.  And  my  imagi- 
nation had  been  captured,  enslaved  already  by  the  image  of  that 
young  girl  who  had  called  me  her  English  cousin,  the  girl  with  the 
lizard,  the  girl  with  the  dagger!  And  with  every  word  she  uttered 
romance  itself,  if  I  had  only  known  it,  the  romance  of  persecuted 
lovers,  spoke  to  me  through  her  lips. 

That  night  the  Spanish  ship  had  the  advantage  of  us  in  a  fresh- 
ening wind,  and  overtook  the  Breeze.  Before  morning  dawned  she 
passed  us,  and  before  the  close  of  the  next  day  she  was  gone  out  of 
sight  ahead,  steering,  apparently,  the  same  course  with  ourselves. 

Her  superior  sailing  had  an  enormous  influence  upon  my  for- 
tunes; and  I  was  more  adrift  in  the  world  than  ever  before,  more 
in  the  dark  as  to  what  awaited  me  than  when  I  was  lugged  along 
with  my  head  in  a  sack.  I  gave  her  but  little  thought.  A  sort  of 
numbness  had  come  over  me.  I  could  think  of  the  girl  that  had  cut 
me  free,  and  for  all  my  resentment  at  the  indignity  of  my  treat- 
ment, I  had  hardly  a  thought  to  spare  for  the  man  who  had  me 
bound.  I  was  pleased  to  remember  that  she  hated  him;  that  she 
had  said  so  herself.  For  the  rest,  I  had  a  vague  notion  of  going 
to  the  English  Consul  in  Havana.  After  all,  I  was  not  a  complete 
nobody,  I  was  John  Kemp,  a  gentleman,  well  connected ;  I  could 
prove  it.  The  Bow  Street  runner  had  not  been  dead  as  I  had 
thought.  The  last  letter  from  Veronica  informed  me  that  the 
man  had  given  up  thief-catching,  and  was  keeping,  now,  a  little 
inn  in  the  neighborhood.  Ralph,  my  brother-in-law,  had  helped 
him  to  it,  no  doubt.    I  could  come  home  safely  now. 

And  I  had  discovered  I  was  no  longer  anxious  to  return  home. 


CHAPTER  V 

THERE  wasn't  any  weirdness  about  the  ship  when  I 
woke  in  the  sunlight.  She  was  old  and  slow  and  rather 
small.  She  carried  Lumsden  (master),  Mercer  (mate), 
a  crew  that  seemed  no  better  and  no  worse  than  any  other  crew, 
and  the  old  gentleman  who  had  thrown  me  the  rope  the  night  be- 
fore, and  who  seemed  to  think  that  he  had  derogated  from  his 
dignity  in  doing  it.  He  was  a  Major  Cowper,  retiring  from  a 
West  Indian  regiment,  and  had  with  him  his  wife  and  a  disagree- 
able little  girl,  with  a  yellow  pigtail  and  a  bony  little  chest  and 
arms. 

On  the  whole,  they  weren't  the  sort  of  people  that  one  would 
have  chosen  for  companions  on  a  pleasure-trip.  Major  Cowper's 
wife  lay  all  day  in  a  deck  chair,  alternately  drawing  to  her  and 
repulsing  the  whining  little  girl.  The  major  talked  to  me  about 
the  scandals  with  which  the  world  was  filled,  and  kept  a  suspicious 
eye  upon  his  wife.  He  spent  the  morning  in  shaving  what  part  of 
his  face  his  white  whiskers  did  not  cover,  the  afternoon  in  enume- 
rating to  me  the  subjects  on  which  he  intended  to  write  to  the 
Horse  Guards.  He  had  grown  entirely  amiable,  perhaps  for  the 
reason  that  his  wife  ignored  my  existence. 

Meantime  I  let  the  days  slip  by  idly,  only  wondering  how  I 
could  manage  to  remain  in  Havana  and  breathe  the  air  of  the  same 
island  with  the  girl  who  had  delivered  me.  Perhaps  some  day  we 
might  meet — ^who  knows?    I  was  not  afraid  of  that  Irishman. 

It  never  occurred  to  me  to  bother  about  the  course  we  were 
taking,  till  one  day  we  sighted  the  Cuban  coast,  and  I  heard  Lums- 
den and  Mercer  pronounce  the  name  of  Rio  Medio.  The  two 
ridiculous  old  chaps  talked  of  Mexican  privateers,  which  seemed 
to  rendezvous  off  that  place.  They  pointed  out  to  me  the  headland 
near  the  bay.  There  was  no  sign  of  privateer  or  pirate,  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach.  In  the  course  of  beating  up  to  windward  we 
closed  in  with  the  coast,  and  then  the  wind  fell, 

85 


86  ROMANCE 

I  remained  motionless  against  the  rail  for  half  the  night,  looking 
at  the  land.  Not  a  single  light  was  visible.  A  wistful,  dreamy 
longing,  a  quiet  longing  pervaded  me,  as  though  I  had  been 
drugged.  I  dreamed,  as  young  men  dream,  of  a  girl's  face.  She 
was  sleeping  there  within  this  dim  vision  of  land.  Perhaps  this 
was  as  near  as  I  should  ever  be  able  to  approach  her.  I  felt  a 
sorrow  without  much  suffering.  A  great  stillness  reigned  around 
the  ship,  over  the  whole  earth.  At  last  I  went  below  and  fell 
asleep. 

I  was  awakened  by  the  idea  that  I  had  heard  an  extraordinary 
row — shouting  and  stamping.  But  there  was  a  dead  silence,  to 
which  I  was  listening  with  all  my  ears.  Suddenly  there  was  a  little 
pop,  as  if  someone  had  spat  rather  vigorously;  then  a  succession  of 
shouts,  then  another  little  pop,  and  more  shouts,  and  the  stamping 
overhead.  A  woman  began  to  shriek  on  the  other  side  of  the  bulk- 
head, then  another  woman  somewhere  else,  then  the  little  girl.  I 
hurried  on  deck,  but  it  was  minutes  before  I  could  make  things 
fit  together.  I  saw  Major  Cowper  on  the  poop ;  he  w^as  brandish- 
ing a  little  pistol  and  apostrophizing  Lumsden,  who  was  waving 
ineffectual  arms  towards  the  sky;  and  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
shouting,  forward  and  overhead.  Cowper  rushed  at  me,  and  ex- 
plained that  something  was  an  abominable  scandal,  and  that  there 
were  women  on  board.  He  waved  his  pistol  towards  the  side;  I 
noticed  that  the  butt  was  inlaid  wMth  mother-of-pearl.  Lumsden 
rushed  at  him  and  clawed  at  his  clothes,  imploring  him  not  to  be 
rash. 

We  were  so  close  in  with  the  coast  that  the  surf  along  the  shore 
gleamed  and  sparkled  in  full  view. 

Someone  shouted  aloft,  "  Look  out!    They  are  firing  again." 

Then  only  I  noticed,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  astern  and  between  the 
land  and  us,  a  little  schooner,  rather  low  in  the  water,  courtesying 
under  a  cloud  of  white  canvas — a  wonderful  thing  to  look  at.  It 
was  as  if  I  had  never  seen  anything  so  instinct  with  life  and  the  joy 
of  it.  A  snowy  streak  spattered  away  from  her  bows  at  each 
plunge.  She  came  at  a  great  speed,  and  a  row  of  faces  looking  our 
way  became  plain,  like  a  beady  decoration  above  her  bulwarks. 
She  swerved  a  little  out  of  her  course,  and  a  sort  of  mushroom  of 
smoke  grew  out  of  her  side;  there  was  a  little  gleam  of  smoldering 


PART  SECOND  87 

light  hidden  in  its  heart.  The  spitting  bang  followed  again,  and 
something  skipped  along  the  wave-tops  beside  us,  raising  little 
pillars  of  spray  that  drifted  away  on  the  wind.  The  schooner  came 
back  on  her  course,  heading  straight  for  us ;  a  shout  like  groaned 
applause  went  up  from  on  board  us.  Lumsden  hid  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

I  could  hear  little  Mercer  shrieking  out  orders  forwards.  We 
were  shortening  sail.  The  schooner,  luffing  a  little,  ranged  abreast. 
A  hail  like  a  metal  blare  came  out  of  her. 

"If  you  donn'd  heef-to  we  seenk  you!  We  seenk  you!  By 
God !  " 

Major  Cowper  was  using  abominable  language  beside  me.  Sud- 
denly he  began  to  call  out  to  someone: 

"  Go  down   ...   go  down,  I  say." 

A  woman's  face  disappeared  into  the  hood  of  the  companion  like 
a  rabbit's  tail  into  its  burrow.  There  was  a  great  volley  of  cracks 
from  the  loose  sails,  and  the  ship  came  to.  At  the  same  time  the 
schooner,  now  on  our  beam  and  stripped  of  her  light  kites,  put  in 
stays  and  remained  on  the  other  tack,  with  her  foresheet  to  wind- 
ward. 

Major  Cowper  said  it  was  a  scandal.  The  country  was  going 
to  the  dogs  because  merchantmen  were  not  compelled  by  law  to 
carry  guns.  He  spluttered  into  my  ears  that  there  wasn't  so  much 
as  a  twopenny  signal  mortar  on  board,  and  no  more  powder  than 
enough  to  load  one  of  his  dueling  pistols.  He  was  going  to  write 
to  the  Horse  Guards. 

A  blue-and-white  ensign  fluttered  up  to  the  main  gaff  of  the 
schooner;  a  boat  dropped  into  the  water.  It  all  went  breathlessly 
— I  hadn't  time  to  think.  I  saw  old  Cowper  run  to  the  side  and 
aim  his  pistol  overboard;  there  was  an  ineffectual  click;  he  made 
a  gesture  of  disgust,  and  tossed  it  on  deck.  His  head  hung  deject- 
edly down  upon  his  chest. 

Lumsden  said,  "  Thank  God,  oh,  thank  God!  "  and  the  old  man 
turned  on  him  like  a  snarling  dog. 

"  You  infernal  coward,"  he  said.  "  Haven't  you  got  a  spark  of 
courage?  " 

A  moment  after,  our  decks  were  invaded  by  men,  brown  and 
ragged,  leaping  down  from  the  bulwarks  one  after  the  other. 


88  ROMANCE 

They  had  come  out  at  break  of  day  (we  must  have  been  ob- 
served the  evening  before),  a  big  schooner — full  of  as  ill-favored, 
ragged  rascals  as  the  most  vivid  imagination  could  conceive.  Of 
course,  there  had  been  no  resistance  on  our  part.  We  were  out- 
sailed, and  at  the  first  ferocious  hail  the  halyards  had  been  let  go 
by  the  run,  and  all  our  crew  had  bolted  aloft.  A  few  bronzed 
bandits  posted  abreast  of  each  mast  kept  them  there  by  the  menace 
of  bell-mouthed  blunderbusses  pointed  upwards.  Lumsden  and 
Mercer  had  been  each  tied  flat  down  to  a  spare  spar.  They  pre- 
sented an  appearance  too  ridiculous  to  awaken  genuine  compassion. 
Major  Cowper  w^as  made  to  sit  on  a  hen-coop,  and  a  bearded  pirate, 
with  a  red  handkerchief  tied  round  his  head  and  a  cutlass  in  his 
hand,  stood  guard  over  him.  The  major  looked  angry  and  crest- 
fallen. The  rest  of  that  infamous  crew,  without  losing  a  moment, 
rushed  into  the  cuddy  to  loot  the  cabins  for  wearing  apparel, 
jewelry,  and  money.  They  squabbled  amongst  themselves,  throw- 
ing the  things  on  deck  into  a  great  heap  of  booty. 

The  schooner  flying  the  Mexican  flag  remained  hove  to  abeam. 
But  in  the  man  in  command  of  the  boarding  party  I  recognized 
Tomas  Castro! 

He  was  a  pirate.  My  surmises  were  correct.  He  looked  the 
part  to  the  life,  in  a  plumed  hat,  cloaked  to  the  chin,  and  standing 
apart  in  a  saturnine  dignity. 

"  Are  you  going  to  have  us  all  murdered,  Castro?  "  I  asked,  with 
indignation.  To  my  surprise  he  did  not  seem  to  recognize  me; 
indeed,  he  pretended  not  to  see  me  at  all.  I  might  have  been  thin 
air  for  any  sign  he  gave  of  being  aware  of  my  presence;  but, 
turning  his  back  on  me,  he  addressed  himself  to  the  ignobly  captive 
Lumsden,  telling  him  that  he,  Castro,  was  the  commander  of  that 
Mexican  schooner,  and  menacing  him  with  dreadful  threats  of 
vengeance  for  what  he  called  the  resistance  we  had  offered  to  a 
privateer  of  the  Republic.  I  suppose  he  was  pleased  to  qualify  with 
the  name  of  armed  resistance  the  miserable  little  pop  of  the  major's 
pocket  pistol.  To  punish  that  audacity  he  announced  that  no 
private  property  would  be  respected. 

"  You  shall  have  to  give  up  all  the  money  on  board,"  he  yelled 
at  the  wretched  man  lying  there  like  a  sheep  ready  for  slaughter. 
The  other  could  only  gasp  and  blink.     Castro's  ferocity  was  so 


PART  SECOND  89 

remarkable  that  for  a  moment  it  struck  me  as  put  on.  There  was 
no  necessity  for  it.  We  were  meek  and  silent  enough,  only  poor 
Major  Cowper  muttered: 

"  My  wife  and  child.   .   .   ." 

The  ragged  brown  men  were  pouring  on  deck  from  below;  their 
arms  full  of  bundles.  Half  a  dozen  of  them  started  to  pull  off  the 
main  hatch  tarpaulin.  Up  aloft  the  crew  looked  down  with  scared 
eyes.  I  began  to  say  excitedly,  in  my  indignation,  almost  into  his 
very  ear: 

"  I  know  you,  Tomas  Castro — I  know  you,  Tomas  Castro." 

Even  then  he  seemed  not  to  hear;  but  at  last  he  looked  into  my 
face  balefully,  as  if  he  wished  to  convey  the  plague  to  me. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  he  said  very  quickly  in  Spanish.  "  This 
is  folly!  "  His  little  hawk's  beak  of  a  nose  nestled  in  his  mustache. 
He  waved  his  arm  and  declared  forcibly,  "  I  don't  know  you.  I 
am  Nikola  el  Demonio,  the  Mexican." 

Poor  old  Cowper  groaned.  The  reputation  of  Nikola  el  De- 
monio, if  rumors  were  to  be  trusted,  was  a  horrible  thing  for  a 
man  with  women  depending  on  him. 

Five  or  six  of  these  bandits  were  standing  about  Lumsden,  the 
major,  and  myself,  fingering  the  locks  of  their  guns.  Poor  old 
Cowper,  breaking  away  from  his  guard,  was  raging  up  and  down 
the  poop ;  and  the  big  pirate  kept  him  off  the  companion  truculently. 
The  major  wanted  to  get  below,  the  little  girl  was  screaming  in 
the  cuddy,  and  we  could  hear  her  very  plainly.  It  was  rather 
horrible.  Castro  had  gone  forward  into  the  crowd  of  scoundrels 
round  the  hatchway.  It  was  only  then  that  I  realized  that  Major 
Cowper  was  in  a  state  of  delirious  apprehension  and  fury;  I  seemed 
to  remember  at  last  that  for  a  long  time  he  had  been  groaning 
somewhere  near  me.    He  kept  on  saying: 

"  Oh,  for  God's  sake — for  God's  sake — my  poor  wife." 

I  understood  that  he  must  have  been  asking  me  to  do  something. 

It  came  as  a  shock  to  me.  I  had  a  vague  sensation  of  his  fears. 
Up  till  then  I  hadn't  realized  that  anyone  could  be  much  interested 
in  Mrs.  Cowper. 

He  caught  hold  of  my  arm,  as  if  he  wanted  support,  and 
stuttered : 

"  Couldn't  you — couldn't  you  speak  to "    He  nodded  in  the 


90  ROMANCE 

direction  of  Tomas  Castro,  who  was  bent  and  shouting  down  the 

hatch.     "  Try  to "  the  old  man  gasped.     "  Didn't  you  hear 

the  child  scream?  "  His  face  was  pallid  and  wrinkled,  like  a  piece 
of  crumpled  paper;  his  mouth  was  drawn  on  one  side,  and  his  lips 
quivered  one  against  the  other. 

I  went  to  Castro  and  caught  him  by  the  arm.  He  spun  round 
and  smiled  discreetly. 

"  We  shall  be  using  force  upon  you  directly.  Pray  resist,  senor; 
but  not  too  much.  What?  His  wife?  Tell  that  stupid  Inglez 
with  whispers  that  she  is  safe."  He  whispered  with  an  air  of 
profound  intelligence,  "  We  shall  be  ready  to  go  as  soon  as  these 
foul  swine  have  finished  their  stealing.  I  cannot  stop  them,"  he 
added. 

I  could  not  pause  to  think  what  he  might  mean.  The  child's 
shrieks  resounding  louder  and  louder,  I  ran  below.  There  were  a 
couple  of  men  in  the  cabin  with  the  women.  Mrs.  Cowper  was 
lying  back  upon  a  sofa,  her  face  very  white  and  drawn,  her  ej^es 
wide'open.  Her  useless  hands  twitched  at  her  dress;  otherwise  she 
was  absolutely  motionless,  like  a  frozen  woman.  The  black  nurse 
was  panting  convulsively  in  a  corner — a  palpitating  bundle  of 
orange  and  purple  and  white  clothes.  The  child  was  rushing  round 
and  round,  shrieking.  The  two  men  did  nothing  at  all.  One  of 
them  kept  saying  in  Spanish: 

"  But — we  only  want  your  rings.  But — we  only  want  your 
rings." 

The  other  made  feeble  efforts  to  catch  the  child  as  it  rushed 
past  him.  He  wanted  its  earrings — they  were  contraband  of  war, 
I  suppose. 

Mrs.  Cowper  was  petrified  with  terror.  Explaining  the  desires 
of  the  two  men  was  like  shouting  things  into  the  ear  of  a  very 
deaf  woman.     She  kept  on  saying: 

"  Will  they  go  away  then?  Will  they  go  away  then?  "  All  the 
while  she  was  drawing  the  rings  off  her  thin  fingers,  and  handing 
them  to  me.  I  gave  them  to  the  ruffians  whose  presence  seemed 
to  terrify  her  out  of  her  senses.  I  had  no  option.  I  could  do 
nothing  else.  Then  I  asked  her  whether  she  wished  me  to  remain 
with  her  and  the  child.     She  said: 

"  Yes.     No.    Go  away.    Yes.     No — let  me  think." 


PART  SECOND  91 

Finally  it  came  into  my  head  that  in  the  captain's  cabin  she 
would  be  able  to  talk  to  her  husband  through  the  deck  ventilator, 
and,  after  a  time,  the  idea  filtered  through  to  her  brain.  She 
could  hardly  walk  at  all.  The  child  and  the  nurse  ran  in  front  of 
us,  and,  practically,  I  carried  her  there  in  my  arms.  Once  in  the 
stateroom  she  struggled  loose  from  me,  and,  rushing  in,  slammed 
the  door  violently  in  my  face.    She  seemed  to  hate  me. 


CHAPTER  VI 

I  WE  NT  on  deck  again.  On  the  poop  about  twenty  men  had 
surrounded  Major  Cowper;  his  white  head  was  being  jerked 
backwards  and  forwards  above  their  bending  backs ;  they  had 
got  his  old  uniform  coat  off,  and  were  fighting  for  the  buttons.  I 
had  just  time  to  shout  to  him,  "  Your  wife's  down  there,  she's  all 
right!  "  when  very  suddenly  I  became  aware  that  Tomas  Castro 
was  swearing  horribly  at  these  thieves.  He  drove  them  away,  and 
we  were  left  quite  alone  on  the  poop,  I  holding  the  major's  coat 
over  my  arm.  Major  Cowper  stooped  down  to  call  through  the 
skylight.     I  could  hear  faint  answers  coming  up  to  him. 

Meantime,  some  of  the  rascals  left  on  board  the  schooner  had 
filled  on  her  in  a  light  wind,  and,  sailing  round  our  stern,  had 
brought  their  vessel  alongside.  Ropes  were  thrown  on  board  and 
we  lay  close  together,  but  the  schooner  with  her  dirty  decks  looked 
to  me,  now,  very  sinister  and  very  sordid. 

Then  I  remembered  Castro's  extraordinary  words;  they  sug- 
gested infinite  possibilities  of  a  disastrous  nature,  I  could  not  tell 
just  what.  The  explanation  seemed  to  be  struggling  to  bring  itself 
to  light,  like  a  name  that  one  has  had  for  hours  on  the  tip  of  a 
tongue  without  being  able  to  formulate  it.  Major  Cowper  rose 
stiffly,  and  limped  to  my  side.  He  looked  at  me  askance,  then 
shifted  his  eyes  away.  Afterwards,  he  took  his  coat  from  my  arm. 
I  tried  to  help  him,  but  he  refused  my  aid,  and  jerked  himself  pain- 
fully into  it.    It  was  too  tight  for  him.    Suddenly,  he  said : 

"  You  seem  to  be  deuced  intimate  with  that  man — deuced  in- 
timate." 

His  tone  caused  me  more  misgiving  than  I  should  have  thought 
possible.  He  took  a  turn  on  the  deserted  deck;  went  to  the  sky- 
light; called  down,  "All  well,  still?"  waited,  listening  with  his 
head  on  one  side,  and  then  came  back  to  me. 

"  You  drop  into  the  ship,"  he  said,  "  out  of  the  clouds.  Out  of 
the  clouds,  I  say.     You  tell  us  some  sort  of  cock-and-bull  story. 

92 


PART  SECOND  93 

I  say  it  looks  deuced  suspicious,"  He  took  another  turn  and  came 
back.     "  My  wife  says  that  you  took  her  rings  and — and — gave 

them  to "     He  had  an  ashamed  air.     It  came  into  my  head 

that  that  hateful  woman  had  been  egging  him  on  to  this  through 
the  skylight,  instead  of  saying  her  prayers. 

"  Your  wife!  "  I  said.  "  Why,  she  might  have  been  murdered 
— if  I  hadn't  made  her  give  them  up.    I  believe  I  saved  her  life." 

He  said  suddenly,  "  Tut,  tut!  "  and  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He 
hung  his  head  for  a  minute,  then  he  added,  "  Mind,  I  don't  say — 
I  don't  say  that  it  mayn't  be  as  you  say.  You're  a  very  nice  young 
fellow  .  .  .  But  what  I  say  is — I  am  a  public  man — you  ought 
to  clear  yourself."  He  was  beginning  to  recover  his  military 
bearing. 

"  Oh!  don't  be  absurd,"  I  said. 

One  of  the  Spaniards  came  up  to  me  and  whispered,  "  You  must 
come  now.  We  are  going  to  cast  off."  At  the  same  time  Tomas 
Castro  prowled  to  the  other  side  of  the  ship,  within  five  yards  of 
us.  I  called  out,  "  Tomas  Castro!  Tomas  Castro!  I  will  not  go 
with  you."    The  man  beside  me  said,  "  Come,  senor!    Vatnos!  " 

Suddenly  Castro,  stretching  his  arm  out  at  me,  cried,  "  Come, 
hombres.  This  is  the  caballero;  seize  him."  And  to  me  in  his 
broken  English  he  shouted,  "  You  may  resist,  if  you  like." 

This  was  what  I  meant  to  do  with  all  my  might.  The  ragged 
croAvd  surrounded  me ;  they  chattered  like  monkeys.  One  man  irri- 
tated me  beyond  conception.  He  looked  like  an  inn-keeper  in  knee- 
breeches,  had  a  broken  nose  that  pointed  to  the  left,  and  a 
double  chin.  More  of  them  came  running  up  every  minute. 
I  made  a  sort  of  blind  rush  at  the  fellow  with  the  broken  nose ;  my 
elbow  caught  him  on  the  soft  folds  of  flesh  and  he  skipped  back- 
wards ;  the  rest  scattered  in  all  directions,  and  then  stood  at  a  dis- 
tance, chattering  and  waving  their  hands.  And  beyond  them  I  saw 
old  Cowper  gesticulating  approval.  The  man  with  the  double 
chin  drew  a  knife  from  his  sleeve,  crouched  instantly,  and  sprang  at 
me,  I  hadn't  fought  anybody  since  I  had  been  at  school ;  raising 
my  fists  was  like  trying  a  dubious  experiment  in  an  emergency.  I 
caught  him  rather  hard  on  the  end  of  his  broken  nose;  I  felt  the 
contact  on  my  right,  and  a  small  pain  in  my  left  hand.  His  arms 
went  up  to  the  sky;  his  face,  too.     But  I  had  started  forward  to 


94  ROMANCE 

meet  him,  and  half  a  dozen  of  them  flung  their  arms  round  me  from 
behind. 

I  seemed  to  have  an  exaggerated  clearness  of  vision ;  I  saw  each 
brown  dirty  paw  reach  out  to  clutch  some  part  of  me.  1  was  not 
angry  any  more;  it  wasn't  any  good  being  angry,  but  I  made  a 
fight  for  it.  There  were  dozens  of  them ;  they  clutched  my  wrists, 
my  elbows,  and  in  between  my  wrists  and  my  elbows,  and  my 
shoulders.  One  pair  of  arms  was  round  my  neck,  another  round  my 
waist,  and  they  kept  on  trying  to  catch  my  legs  with  ropes.  We 
seemed  to  stagger  all  over  the  deck ;  I  expect  they  got  in  each  other's 
way;  they  would  have  made  a  better  job  of  it  if  they  hadn't  been 
such  a  multitude.  I  must  then  have  got  a  crack  on  the  head,  for 
everything  grew  dark ;  the  night  seemed  to  fall  on  us,  as  we  fought. 

Afterwards  I  found  myself  lying  gasping  on  my  back  on  the 
deck  of  the  schooner;  four  or  five  men  were  holding  me  down. 
Castro  was  putting  a  pistol  into  his  belt.  He  stamped  his  foot 
violently,  and  then  went  and  shouted  in  Spanish : 

"  Come  you  all  on  board.  You  have  done  mischief  enough,  fools 
of  Lugarehos.     Now  we  go." 

I  saw,  as  in  a  dream  of  stress  and  violence,  some  men  making 
ready  to  cast  off  the  schooner,  and  then,  in  a  supreme  effort,  an 
effort  of  lusty  youth  and  strength,  which  I  remember  to  this  day, 
I  scattered  men  like  chaff,  and  stood  free. 

For  the  fraction  of  a  second  I  stood,  ready  to  fall  mj^self,  and 
looking  at  prostrate  men.  It  was  a  flash  of  vision,  and  then  I  made 
a  bolt  for  the  rail.  I  clambered  furiously ;  I  saw  the  deck  of  the  old 
bark;  I  had  just  one  exulting  sight  of  it,  and  then  Major  Cowper 
uprose  before  my  eyes  and  knocked  me  back  on  board  the  schooner, 
tumbling  after  me  himself. 

Twenty  men  flung  themselves  upon  my  body.  I  made  no  move- 
ment. The  end  had  come.  I  hadn't  the  strength  to  shake  off  a 
fly,  my  heart  was  bursting  my  ribs.  I  lay  on  my  back  and  managed 
to  say,  "  Give  me  air."    I  thought  I  should  die. 

Castro,  draped  in  his  cloak,  stood  over  me,  but  Major  Cowper 
fell  on  his  knees  near  my  head,  almost  sobbing: 

"My  papers!  My  papers!  I  tell  you  I  shall  starve.  Make 
them  give  me  back  my  papers.  They  aint  any  use  to  them — my 
pension — mortgages — not  worth  a  penny  piece  to  you." 


PART  SECOND  95 

He  crouched  over  my  face,  and  Spaniards  stood  around,  won- 
dering. He  begged  me  to  intercede,  to  save  him  those  papers  of 
the  greatest  importance. 

Castro  preserved  his  attitude  of  a  conspirator.  I  was  touched 
by  the  major's  distress,  and  at  last  I  condescended  to  address  Castro 
on  his  behalf,  though  it  cost  me  an  effort,  for  I  was  angry,  indig- 
nant, and  humiliated. 

"  Whart — whart?  What  do  I  know  of  his  papers?  Let  him 
find  them."    He  waved  his  hand  loftily. 

The  deck  was  hillocked  with  heaps  of  clothing,  of  bedding, 
casks  of  rum,  old  hats,  and  tarpaulins.  Cowper  ran  in  and  out 
among  the  plunder,  like  a  pointer  in  a  turnip  field.  He  was 
groaning. 

Beside  one  of  the  pumps  was  a  small  pile  of  shiny  cases;  ship's 
instruments,  a  chronometer  in  its  case,  a  medicine  chest. 

Cowper  tottered  at  a  black  dispatch-box.  "  There,  there!  "  he 
said;  "  I  tell  you  I  shall  starve  if  I  don't  have  it.  Ask  him — ask 
him "    He  was  clutching  me  like  a  drowning  man. 

Castro  raised  the  inevitable  arm  towards  heaven,  letting  his 
round  black  cloak  fall  into  folds  like  those  of  an  umbrella.  Cow- 
per gathered  that  he  might  take  his  japanned  dispatch-box;  he 
seized  the  brass  handles  and  rushed  towards  the  side,  but  at  the  last 
moment  he  had  the  good  impulse  to  return  to  me,  holding  out  his 
hand,  and  spluttering  distractedly,  "  God  bless  you,  God  bless  you." 
After  a  time  he  remembered  that  I  had  rescued  his  wife  and  child, 
and  he  asked  God  to  bless  me  for  that,  too.  "  If  it  is  ever  neces- 
sary," he  said,  "  on  my  honor,  if  you  escape,  I  will  come  a  thousand 
miles  to  testify.  On  my  honor — remember."  He  said  he  was  going 
to  live  in  Clapham.  That  is  as  much  as  I  remember.  I  was  held 
pinned  down  to  the  deck,  and  he  disappeared  from  my  sight.  Be- 
fore the  ships  had  separated,  I  was  carried  below  in  the  cabin  of 
the  schooner. 

They  left  me  alone  there,  and  I  sat  with  my  head  on  my  arms 
for  a  long  time.  I  did  not  think  of  anything  at  all ;  I  was  too 
utterly  done  up  with  my  struggles,  and  there  was  nothing  to  be 
thought  about.  I  had  grown  to  accept  the  meanness  of  things 
as  if  I  had  aged  a  great  deal.  I  had  seen  men  scratch  each  other's 
faces  over  coat  buttons,  old  shoes — over  Mercer's  trousers.     My 


96  ROMANCE 

own  future  did  not  interest  me  at  this  stage.  I  sat  up  and  looked 
round  me. 

I  was  in  a  small,  bare  cabin,  roughly  wainscoted  and  exceedingly 
filthy.  There  were  the  grease-marks  from  the  backs  of  heads  all 
along  a  bulkhead  above  a  wooden  bench ;  the  rough  table,  on  which 
my  arms  rested,  was  covered  with  layers  of  tallow  spots.  Bright 
light  shone  through  a  porthole.  Two  or  three  ill-assorted  muskets 
slanted  about  round  the  foot  of  the  mast — a  long  old  piece,  of  the 
time  of  Pizarro,  all  red  velvet  and  silver  chasing,  on  a  swiveled 
stand,  three  English  fowling-pieces,  and  a  coachman's  blunderbuss. 
A  man  was  rising  from  a  mattress  stretched  on  the  floor ;  he  placed 
a  mandolin,  decorated  with  red  favors,  on  the  greasy  table.  He 
was  shockingly  thin,  and  so  tall  that  his  head  disturbed  the  candle- 
soot  on  the  ceiling.  He  said :  "  Ah,  I  was  waiting  for  the  cavalier 
to  awake." 

He  stalked  round  the  end  of  the  table,  slid  between  it  and  the 
side,  and  grasped  my  arm  with  wrapt  earnestness  as  he  settled  him- 
self slowly  beside  me.  He  wore  a  red  shirt  that  had  become  rather 
black  where  his  long  brown  ringlets  fell  on  his  shoulders;  it  had 
tarnished  gilt  buttons  ciphered  "  G.  R.,"  stolen,  I  suppose,  from 
some  English  ship. 

"  I  beg  the  Senor  Caballero  to  listen  to  what  I  have  to  record," 
he  said,  with  intense  gravity.  "  I  cannot  bear  this  much  longer — 
no,  I  cannot  bear  my  sufferings  much  longer." 

His  face  was  of  a  large,  classical  type;  a  close-featured,  rather 
long  face,  with  an  immense  nose  that  from  the  front  resembled  the 
section  of  a  bell ;  eyebrows  like  horseshoes,  and  very  large-pupiled 
eyes  that  had  the  purplish-brown  luster  of  a  horse's.  His  air  was 
mournful  in  the  extreme,  and  he  began  to  speak  resonantly  as  if 
his  chest  were  a  sounding-board.  He  used  immensely  long  sen- 
tences, of  which  I  only  understood  one-half. 

"  What,  then,  is  the  difference  between  me,  Manuel-del-Popolo 
Isturiz,  and  this  Tomas  Castro?  The  Seiior  Caballero  can  tell 
at  once.  Look  at  me.  I  am  the  finer  man.  I  would  have  you  ask 
the  ladies  of  Rio  Medio,  and  leave  the  verdict  to  them.  This 
Castro  is  an  Andalou — a  foreigner.  And  we,  the  braves  of  Rio 
Medio,  will  suffer  no  foreigner  to  make  headway  with  our  ladies. 
Yet  this  Andalusian  is  preferred  because  he  is  a  humble  friend  of 


PART  SECOND  97 

the  great  Don,  and  because  he  is  for  a  few  days  given  the  com- 
mand. I  ask  you,  seiior,  what  is  the  radical  difference  between 
me,  the  sailing  captain  of  this  vessel,  and  him,  the  fighting  captain 
for  a  few  days.  Is  it  not  I  that  am,  as  it  were,  the  brains  of  it, 
and  he  only  its  knife?    I  ask  the  Senor  Caballero." 

I  didn't  in  the  least  know  what  to  answer.  His  great  eyes  wist- 
fully explored  my  face.     I  expect  I  looked  bewildered. 

"  I  lay  my  case  at  your  feet,"  he  continued.  "  You  are  to  be 
our  chief  leader,  and,  on  account  of  your  illustrious  birth  and  re- 
nowned intelligence,  will  occupy  a  superior  position  in  the  council 
of  the  notables.  Is  it  not  so?  Has  not  the  Senor  Juez  O'Brien 
so  ordained  ?  You  will  give  ear  to  me,  you  will  alleviate  my  in- 
dignant sufferings?"  He  implored  me  with  his  eyes  for  a  long 
time. 

Manuel-del-Popolo,  as  he  called  himself,  pushed  the  hair  back 
from  his  forehead.  I  had  noticed  that  the  love-locks  w^ere  plaited 
with  black  braid,  and  that  he  wore  large  dirty  silk  ruffles. 

"  The  caballero,"  he  continued,  m.arking  his  words  with  a  long, 
white  finger  atap  on  the  table,  "  will  represent  my  views  to  the 
notables.  IVIy  position  at  present,  as  I  have  had  the  honor  to  ob- 
serve, is  become  unbearable.  Consider,  too,  how  your  worship  and 
I  would  work  together.  What  lightness  for  you  and  me.  You 
will  find  this  Castro  unbearably  gross.  But  I — I  assure  you  I  am 
a  man  of  taste — an  improvisador — an  artist.  My  songs  are  cele- 
brated.   And  yet!   .  .   ." 

He  folded  his  arms  again,  and  waited ;  then  he  said,  employing 
his  most  impressive  voice : 

"  I  have  influence  with  the  men  of  Rio.  I  could  raise  a  riot. 
We  Cubans  are  a  jealous  people;  we  do  not  love  that  foreigners 
should  take  our  best  from  us.  We  do  not  love  it ;  we  will  not 
suffer  it.  Let  this  Castro  bethink  himself  and  go  in  peace,  leaving 
us  and  our  ladies.  As  the  proverb  says,  '  It  is  well  to  build  a 
bridge  for  a  departing  enemy.'  " 

He  began  to  peer  at  me  more  wistfully,  and  his  eyes  grew  more 
luminous  than  ever.  This  man,  in  spite  of  his  grotesqueness,  was 
quite  in  earnest,  there  was  no  doubting  that. 

"  I  have  a  gentle  spirit,"  he  began  again,  "  a  gentle  spirit.  I  am 
submissive  to  the  legitimate  authorities.     What  the  Senor  Juez 


98  ROMANCE 

O'Brien  asks  me  to  do,  I  do.  I  would  put  a  knife  into  anyone  who 
inconvenienced  the  Senor  Juez  O'Brien,  who  is  a  good  Catholic; 
we  would  all  do  that,  as  is  right  and  fitting.  But  this  Castro — 
this  Andalou,  who  is  nearly  as  bad  as  a  heretic!  When  my  day 
comes,  I  will  have  his  arms  flayed  and  the  soles  of  his  feet,  and  I 
will  rub  red  pepper  into  them ;  and  all  the  men  of  Rio  who  do  not 
love  foreigners  will  applaud.  And  I  will  stick  little  thorns  under 
his  tongue,  and  I  will  cut  off  his  eyelids  with  little  scissors,  and  set 
him  facing  the  sun.  Caballero,  you  would  love  me ;  I  have  a  gentle 
spirit.  I  am  a  pleasant  companion."  He  rose  and  squeezed  round 
the  table.  "  Listen  " — his  eyes  lit  up  with  rapture — "  you  shall 
hear  me.     It  is  divine — ah,  it  is  very  pleasant,  you  will  say." 

He  seized  his  mandolin,  slung  it  round  his  neck,  and  leant 
against  the  bulkhead.  The  bright  light  from  the  port-hole  gilded 
the  outlines  of  his  body,  as  he  swayed  about  and  moved  his  long 
fingers  across  the  strings;  they  tinkled  metallically.  He  sang  in  a 
nasal  voice: 

• '  Listen! '  the  young  girls  say  as  they  hasten  to  the  barred  window. 
'  Listen!     Ah,  surely  that  is  the  guitar  of 
Man — u — el — del-Popolo, 
As  he  glides  along  the  wall  in  the  twilight.'" 

It  was  a  very  long  song.  He  gesticulated  freely  with  his  hand 
in  between  the  scratching  of  the  strings,  which  seemed  to  be  a 
matter  of  luck.  His  eyes  gazed  distantly  at  the  wall  above  my 
head.  The  performance  bewildered  and  impressed  me ;  I  wondered 
if  this  was  what  they  had  carried  me  off  for.  It  was  like  being 
mad.  He  made  a  decresendo  tinkling,  and  his  lofty  features  lapsed 
into  their  normal  mournfulness. 

At  that  moment  Castro  put  his  face  round  the  door,  then  entered 
altogether.  He  sighed  in  a  satisfied  manner,  and  had  an  air  of 
having  finished  a  laborious  undertaking. 

"  We  have  arranged  the  confusion  up  above,"  he  said  to  Manuel- 
del-Popolo;  "  you  may  go  and  see  to  the  sailing.  .  .  .  Hurry;  it 
is  growing  late." 

Manuel  blazed  silently,  and  stalked  out  of  the  door  as  if  he  had 
an  electric  cloud  round  his  head.  Tomas  Castro  turned  towards 
me. 


PART  SECOND  99 

"  You  are  better?  "  he  asked  benevolently.  "  You  exerted  your- 
self too  much.    .    .    .     But  still,  if  you  liked "     He  picked  up 

the  mandolin,  and  began  negligently  scratching  the  strings.  I  no- 
ticed an  alteration  in  him ;  he  had  grown  softer  in  the  flesh  in  the 
past  years ;  there  were  little  threads  of  gray  in  the  knotted  curls  of 
his  beard.  It  was  as  if  he  had  lived  well,  on  the  whole.  He  bent 
his  head  over  the  strings,  plucked  one,  tightened  a  peg,  plucked  it 
again,  then  set  the  instrument  on  the  table,  and  dropped  onto  the 
mattress.  "Will  you  have  some  rum?"  he  said.  "You  have 
grown  broad  and  strong,  like  a  bull.  .  .  .  You  made  those  men 
fly,  sacre  nom  d'une  pipe.  .  .  .  One  would  have  thought  you  were 
in  earnest.  .  .  .  Ah,  well!  "  He  stretched  himself  at  length  on 
the  mattress,  and  closed  his  eyes. 

I  looked  at  him  to  discover  traces  of  irony.  There  weren't  any. 
He  was  talking  quietly ;  he  even  reproved  me  for  having  carried  the 
pretense  of  resistance  beyond  a  joke. 

"  You  fought  too  much ;  you  struck  many  men — and  hard.  You 
will  have  made  enemies.  The  picaros  of  this  dirty  little  town  are 
as  conceited  as  pigs.  You  must  take  care,  or  you  will  have  a  knife 
in  your  back." 

He  lay  with  his  hands  crossed  on  his  stomach,  which  was  round 
like  a  pudding.  After  a  time  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  looked  at  the 
dancing  white  reflection  of  the  water  on  the  grimy  ceiling. 

"  To  think  of  seeing  you  again,  after  all  these  years,"  he  said. 
"  I  did  not  believe  my  ears  when  Don  Carlos  asked  me  to  fetch  you 
like  this.  Who  would  have  believed  it?  But,  as  they  say,"  he 
added  philosophically,  "  '  The  water  flows  to  the  sea,  and  the  little 
stones  find  their  places.'  "  He  paused  to  listen  to  the  sounds  that 
came  from  above.  "  That  Manuel  is  a  fool,"  he  said  without 
rancor;  "he  is  mad  with  jealousy  because  for  this  day  I  have 
command  here.  But,  all  the  same,  they  are  dangerous  pigs,  these 
slaves  of  the  Seflor  O'Brien.  I  wish  the  town  were  rid  of  them. 
One  day  there  will  be  a  riot — a  function — with  their  jealousies 
and  madness.'^ 

I  sat  and  said  nothing,  and  things  fitted  themselves  together, 
little  patches  of  information  going  in  here  and  there  like  the  pieces 
of  a  puzzle  map.  O'Brien  had  gone  on  to  Havana  in  the  ship  from 
which  I  had  escaped,  to  render  an  account  of  the  pirates  that  had 


loo  ROMANCE 

been  hung  at  Kingston ;  the  Riegos  had  been  landed  in  boats  at  Rio 
Medio,  of  course. 

"  That  poor  Don  Carlos!  "  Castro  moaned  lamentably.  "  They 
had  the  barbarity  to  take  him  out  in  the  night,  in  that  raw  fog.  He 
coughed  and  coughed ;  it  made  me  faint  to  hear  him.  He  could  not 
even  speak  to  me — his  Tomas ;  it  was  pitiful.  He  could  not  speak 
when  we  got  to  the  Casa." 

I  could  not  really  understand  why  I  had  been  a  second  time 
kidnaped.  Castro  said  that  O'Brien  had  not  been  unwilling  that 
I  should  reach  Havana.  It  was  Carlos  that  had  ordered  Tomas  to 
take  me  out  of  the  Breeze.  He  had  come  down  in  the  raw  morning, 
before  the  schooner  had  put  out  from  behind  the  point,  to  impress 
very  elaborate  directions  upon  Tomas  Castro ;  indeed,  it  was  whilst 
talking  to  Tomas  that  he  had  burst  a  blood-vessel. 

"  He  said  to  me:  '  Have  a  care  now.  Listen.  He  is  my  dear 
friend,  that  Senor  Juan.  I  love  him  as  if  he  were  my  only  brother. 
Be  very  careful,  Tomas  Castro.  Make  it  appear  that  he  comes 
to  us  much  against  his  will.  Let  him  be  dragged  on  board  by 
many  men.  \o\x  are  to  understand,  Tomas,  that  he  is  a  youth  of 
noble  family,  and  that  you  are  to  be  as  careful  of  compromising 
him  as  you  are  of  the  honor  of  Our  Lady.'  " 

Tomas  Castro  looked  across  at  me.  "  You  will  be  able  to  report 
well  of  me,"  he  said;  "  I  did  my  best.  H  you  are  compromised,  it 
was  you  who  did  it  by  talking  to  me  as  if  you  knew  me." 

I  remembered,  then,  that  Tomas  certainly  had  resented  my  seem- 
ing to  recognize  him  before  Cowper  and  Lumsden.  He  closed  his 
eyes  again.    After  a  time  he  added : 

"  Fay  a!  After  all,  it  is  foolishness  to  fear  being  compromised. 
You  would  never  believe  that  his  Excellency  Don  Balthasar  had 
led  a  riotous  life — to  look  at  him  with  his  silver  head.  It  is  said 
he  had  three  friars  killed  once  in  Seville,  a  very,  very  long  time 
ago.  It  was  dangerous  in  those  days  to  come  against  our  Mother, 
the  Church."  He  paused,  and  undid  his  shirt,  laying  bare  an  in- 
credibly hairy  chest;  then  slowly  kicked  off  his  shoes.  "  One  stifles 
here,"  he  said.     "  Ah !  in  the  old  days " 

Suddenly  he  turned  to  me  and  said,  with  an  air  of  indescribable 
interest,  as  if  he  were  gloating  over  an  obscene  idea: 

"  So  they  would  hang  a  gentleman  like  you,  if  they  caught  you  ? 


PART  SECOND  loi 

What  savages  you  English  people  are ! — what  savages !  Like  can- 
nibals! You  did  well  to  make  that  comedy  of  resisting.  Quel 
pays!  .  .  .  What  a  people  ...  I  dream  of  them  still.  .  .  . 
The  eyes;  the  teeth!  Ah,  well!  in  an  hour  we  shall  be  in  Rio. 
I  must  sleep.  .  .  ." 


CHAPTER  VII 

BY  two  of  the  afternoon  we  were  running  into  the  inlet  of 
Rio  Medio.  I  had  come  on  deck  when  Tomas  Castro  had 
started  out  of  his  doze.  I  wanted  to  see.  We  went  round 
violently  as  I  emerged,  and,  clinging  to  the  side,  I  saw,  in  a  whirl, 
tall,  baked,  brown  hills  dropping  sheer  down  to  a  strip  of  flat  land 
and  a  belt  of  dark-green  scrub  at  the  water's  edge;  little  pink 
squares  of  house-walls  dropped  here  and  there,  mounting  the  hill- 
side among  palms,  like  men  standing  in  tall  grass,  running  back, 
hiding  in  a  steep  valley ;  silver-gray  huts  with  ragged  dun  roofs,  like 
disheveled  shocks  of  hair;  a  great  pink  church-face,  very  tall  and 
narrow,  pyramidal  towards  the  top,  and  pierced  for  seven  bells,  but 
having  only  three.  It  looked  as  if  it  had  been  hidden  for  centuries 
in  the  folds  of  an  ancient  land,  as  it  lay  there  asleep  in  the  blighting 
sunlight. 

When  we  anchored,  Tomas,  beside  me  in  saturnine  silence, 
grunted  and  spat  into  the  water. 

"  Look  here,"  I  said.  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  it  all?  What 
is  it?    What  is  at  the  bottom?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  gloomily.  "  If  your  worship  does 
not  know,  who  should?  "  he  said.  "  It  is  not  for  me  to  say  why 
people  should  wish  to  come'  here." 

"  Then  take  me  to  Carlos,"  I  said.    "  I  must  get  this  settled." 

Castro  looked  at  me  suspiciously.  "  You  will  not  excite  him?  " 
he  said.  ''  I  have  known  people  die  right  out  when  they  were  like 
that." 

"  Oh,  I  won't  excite  him,"  I  said. 

As  we  were  rowed  ashore,  he  began  to  point  out  the  houses  of 
the  notables.  Rio  Medio  had  been  one  of  the  principal  ports  of 
the  Antilles  in  the  seventeenth  century,  but  it  had  failed  before  the 
rivalry  of  Havana  because  its  harbor  would  not  take  the  large 
vessels  of  modern  draft.  Now  it  had  no  trade,  no  life,  no  any- 
thing except  a  bishop  and  a  great  monastery,  a  few  retired  officials 

102 


PART  SECOND  103 

from  Havana.  A  large  settlement  of  ragged  thatched  huts  and 
clay  hovels  lay  to  the  west  of  the  cathedral.  The  Casa  Riego  was 
an  enormous  palace,  with  windows  like  loopholes,  facing  the  shore. 
Don  Balthasar  practically  owned  the  whole  town  and  all  the  sur- 
rounding country,  and,  except  for  his  age  and  feebleness,  might 
have  been  an  absolute  monarch. 

He  had  lived  in  Havana  with  great  splendor,  but  now,  in  his 
failing  years,  had  retired  to  his  palace,  from  which  he  had  since 
only  twice  set  foot.  This  had  only  been  when  official  ceremonies 
of  extreme  importance,  such  as  the  international  execution  of 
pirates  that  I  had  witnessed,  demanded  the  presence  of  someone  of 
his  eminence  and  luster.  Otherwise  he  had  lived  shut  up  in  his 
palace.    There  was  nowhere  in  Rio  Medio  for  him  to  go  to. 

He  was  said  to  regard  his  intendente  O'Brien  as  the  apple  of 
his  eye,  and  had  used  his  influence  to  get  him  made  one  of  the 
judges  of  the  Marine  Court.  The  old  Don  himself  probably  knew 
nothing  about  the  pirates.  The  inlet  had  been  used  by  buccaneers 
ever  since  the  days  of  Columbus;  but  they  were  below  his  serious 
consideration,  even  if  he  had  ever  seen  them,  which  Tomas  Castro 
doubted. 

There  was  no  doubting  the  sincerity  of  his  tone. 

"  Oh,  you  thought  /  was  a  pirate!  "  he  muttered.  "  For  a  day 
— yes — to  oblige  a  Riego,  my  friend — ^yes !  Moreover,  I  hate  that 
familiar  of  the  priests,  that  soft-spoken  Juez,  intendente,  intriguer 
— that  O'Brien.  A  sufferer  for  the  faith!  Que  Picardia!  Have  I, 
too,  not  suffered  for  the  faith  ?  I  am  the  trusted  humble  friend  of 
the  Riegos.  But,  perhaps,  you  think  Don  Balthasar  is  himself  a 
pirate !  He  who  has  in  his  veins  the  blood  of  the  Cid  Campeador ; 
whose  ancestors  have  owned  half  this  island  since  the  days  of 
Christopher  himself.   .   .   ." 

"  Has  he  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it?  "  I  asked.  "  After  all, 
it  goes  on  in  his  own  town." 

"Oh,  you  English,"  he  muttered;  "you  are  all  mad!  Would 
one  of  your  great  nobles  be  a  pirate?  Perhaps  they  would — God 
knows,  Alas,  alas!  "  he  suddenly  broke  off,  "when  I  think  that 
my  Carlos  shall  leave  his  bones  in  this  ungodly  place.   ,   .   ." 

I  gave  up  questioning  Tomas  Castro ;  he  was  too  much  for  me. 

We  entered  the  grim  palace  by  the  shore  through  an  imposing 


104  ROMANCE 

archway,  and  mounted  a  broad  staircase.  In  a  lofty  room,  giving 
off  the  upper  gallery  round  the  central  court  of  the  Casa  Riego, 
Carlos  lay  in  a  great  bed.  I  stood  before  him,  having  pushed  aside 
Tomas  Castro,  who  had  been  cautiously  scratching  the  great 
brilliant  mahogany  panels  with  a  dirty  finger-nail. 

"  Damnation,  Carlos!  "  I  said.  "  This  is  the  third  of  your  treach- 
eries.   What  do  you  want  with  me?  " 

You  might  well  have  imagined  he  was  a  descendant  of  the  Cid 
Campeador,  only  to  look  at  him  lying  there  without  a  quiver  of  a 
feature,  his  face  stainlessly  white,  a  little  bluish  in  extreme  lack  of 
blood,  with  all  the  nobility  of  death  upon  it,  like  an  alabaster  effigy 
of  an  old  knight  in  a  cathedral.  On  the  red-velvet  hangings  of  the 
bed  was  an  immense  coat-of-arms,  worked  in  silk  and  surrounded  by 
a  collar,  with  the  golden  sheep  hanging  from  the  ring.  The  shield 
was  patched  in  with  an  immense  number  of  quarterings — lions 
rampant,  leopards  courant,  fleurs  de  lis,  castles,  eagles,  hands,  and 
arms.  His  eyes  opened  slowly,  and  his  face  assumed  an  easy, 
languorous  smile  of  immense  pleasure, 

"  Ah,  Juan,"  he  said,  "  se  bienvienido,  be  welcome,  be  welcome." 

Castro  caught  me  roughly  by  the  shoulder,  and  gazed  at  me  with 
blazing,  yellow  eyes. 

"  You  should  not  speak  roughly  to  him,"  he  said.  "  English 
beast!    He  is  dying." 

"  No,  I  won't  speak  roughly  to  him,"  I  answered.    "  I  see." 

I  did  see.  At  first  I  had  been  suspicious;  it  might  have  been  put 
on  to  mollify  me.  But  one  could  not  put  on  that  blueness  of  tinge, 
that  extra — nearly  final — touch  of  the  chisel  to  the  lines  round  the 
nose,  that  air  of  restfulness  that  nothing  any  more  could  very  much 
disturb.    There  was  no  doubt  that  Carlos  was  dying. 

"  Treacheries — no.  You  had  to  come,"  he  said  suddenly.  "  I 
need  you.  I  am  glad,  dear  Juan."  He  waved  a  thin  long  hand  a 
little  towards  mine.  "  You  shall  not  long  be  angry.  It  had  to  be 
done — you  must  forgive  the  means." 

His  air  was  so  gay,  so  uncomplaining,  that  it  w^as  hard  to  believe 
ft  came  from  him. 

"  You  could  not  have  acted  worse  if  you  had  owed  me  a  grudge, 
Carlos,"  I  said.  "  I  want  an  explanation.  But  I  don't  want  to  kill 
you.    .    .    ." 


PART  SECOND  105 

"  Oh,  no,  oh,  no,"  he  said ;  "  in  a  minute  I  will  tell." 

He  dropped  a  gold  ball  into  a  silver  basin  that  was  by  the  bed- 
side, and  it  sounded  like  a  great  bell.  A  nun  in  a  sort  of  coif  that 
took  the  lines  of  a  buffalo's  horns  glided  to  him  with  a  gold  cup, 
from  which  he  drank,  raising  himself  a  little.  Then  the  religious 
went  out  with  Tomas  Castro,  who  gave  me  a  last  ferocious  glower 
from  his  yellow  eyes.     Carlos  smiled. 

"  They  try  to  make  my  going  easy,"  he  said.  "  Vamos!  The 
pillow  is  smooth  for  him  who  is  w^ell  loved."  He  shut  his 
eyes.  Suddenly  he  said,  "  Why  do  you,  alone,  hate  me,  John 
Kemp  ?    What  have  I  done  ?  " 

"  God  knows  I  don't  hate  you,  Carlos,"  I  answered. 

"  You  have  always  mistrusted  me,"  he  said.  "  And  yet  I  am, 
perhaps,  nearer  to  you  than  many  of  your  countrymen,  and  I  have 
always  wished  you  well,  and  you  have  always  hated  and  mistrusted 
me.    From  the  very  first  you  mistrusted  me.    Why  ?  " 

It  was  useless  denying  it;  he  had  the  extraordinary  incredulity 
of  his  kind.  I  remembered  how  I  had  idolized  him  as  a  boy  at 
home. 

"  Your  brother-in-law,  my  cousin  Rooksby,  was  the  very  first  to 
believe  that  I  was  a  pirate.  I,  a  vulgar  pirate!  I,  Carlos  Riego! 
Did  he  not  believe  it — and  you?  "  He  glanced  a  little  ironically, 
and  lifted  a  thin  white  finger  towards  the  great  coat-of-arms. 
"  That  sort  of  thing,"  he  said,  "  amigo  mioj  does  not  allow  one  to 
pick  pockets."  He  suddenly  turned  a  little  to  one  side,  and  fixed 
me  with  his  clear  eyes.  "  My  friend,"  he  said,  "  if  I  told  you  that 
Rooksby  and  your  greatest  Kent  earls  carried  smugglers'  tubs,  you 
would  say  I  was  an  ignorant  fool.  Yet  they,  too,  are  magistrates. 
The  only  use  I  have  ever  made  of  these  ruffians  was  to-day,  to 
bring  you  here.  It  was  a  necessity.  That  O'Brien  had  gone  on  to 
take  you  when  you  arrived.  You  would  never  have  come  alive  out 
of  Havana.  I  was  saving  your  life.  Once  there,  you  could  never 
have  escaped  from  that  man." 

I  saw  suddenly  that  this  might  be  the  truth.  There  had  been 
something  friendly  in  Tomas  Castro's  desire  not  to  compromise  me 
before  the  people  on  board  the  ship.  Obviously  he  had  been  acting 
a  part,  with  a  visible  contempt  for  the  pilfering  that  he  could  not 
prevent.    He  had  been  sent  merely  to  bring  me  to  Rio  Medio. 


io6  ROMANCE 

"  I  never  disliked  you,"  I  protested.  "  I  do  not  understand  what 
you  mean.  All  I  know  is,  that  you  have  used  me  ill — outrageously 
ill.  You  have  saved  my  life  now,  you  say.  That  may  be  true ;  but 
why  did  you  ever  make  me  meet  with  that  man  O'Brien?  " 

"  And  even  for  that  you  should  not  hate  me,"  he  said,  shaking 
his  head  on  the  silk  pillows.  "  I  never  wished  you  anything  but 
well,  Juan,  because  you  were  honest  and  young,  of  noble  blood, 
good  to  look  upon ;  you  had  done  me  and  my  friend  good  service, 
to  your  own  peril,  when  my  own  cousin  had  deserted  me.  And  I 
loved  you  for  the  sake  of  another.  I  loved  your  sister.  We  have  a 
proverb :  '  A  man  is  always  good  to  the  eyes  in  which  the  sister 
hath  found  favor.'  " 

I  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  "  You  loved  Veronica!  "  I  said. 
"  But  Veronica  is  nothing  at  all.    There  was  the  Senorita." 

He  smiled  wearily.  "Ah,  the  Seiiorita;  she  is  very  well;  a 
man  could  love  her,  too.  But  we  do  not  command  love,  my 
friend." 

I  interrupted  him.  "  I  want  to  know  why  you  brought  me  here. 
Why  did  you  ask  me  to  come  here  when  we  were  on  board  the 
Thames?  " 

He  answered  sadly,  "Ah,  then!  Because  I  loved  your  sister, 
and  you  reminded  me  always  of  her.  But  that  is  all  over  now — 
done  with  for  good.  ...  I  have  to  address  myself  to  dying  as  it 
becomes  one  of  my  race  to  die."  He  smiled  at  me.  "  One  must 
die  in  peace  to  die  like  a  Christian.  Life  has  treated  me  rather 
scurvily,  only  the  gentleman  must  not  repine  like  a  poor  man  of  low 
birth.  I  would  like  to  do  a  good  turn  to  the  friend  who  is  the 
brother  of  his  sister,  to  the  girl-cousin  whom  I  do  not  love  with 
love,  but  whom  I  understand  with  affection — to  the  great  inheri- 
tance that  is  not  for  my  wasted  hands." 

I  looked  out  of  the  open  door  of  the  room.  There  was  the  ab- 
solutely quiet  inner  court  of  the  palace,  a  colonnade  of  tall  square 
pillars,  in  the  center  the  little  thread  of  a  fountain.  Round  the 
fountain  were  tangled  bushes  of  flowers — enormous  geraniums, 
enormous  hollj^hocks,  a  riot  of  orange  marigolds. 

"  How  like  our  flowers  at  home!  "  I  said  mechanically. 

"  I  brought  the  seeds  from  there — from  your  sister's  garden,"  he 
said. 


PART  SECOND  107 

I  felt  horribly  hipped.  "  But  all  these  things  tell  me  nothing," 
I  said,  with  an  attempt  towards  briskness. 

"  I  have  to  husband  my  voice."    He  closed  his  eyes. 

There  is  no  saying  that  I  did  not  believe  him ;  I  did,  every  word. 
I  had  simply  been  influenced  by  Rooksby's  suspicions.  I  had  made 
an  ass  of  myself  over  that  business  on  board  the  Thames.  The 
passage  of  Carlos  and  his  faithful  Tomas  had  been  arranged  for  by 
some  agent  of  O'Brien  in  London,  who  was  in  communication  with 
Ramon  and  Rio  Medio.  The  same  man  had  engaged  Nichols,  that 
Nova  Scotian  mate,  an  unscrupulous  sailor,  for  O'Brien's  service. 
He  was  to  leave  the  ship  in  Kingston,  and  report  himself  to  Ramon, 
who  furnished  him  with  the  means  to  go  to  Cuba.  That  man, 
seeing  me  intimate  with  two  persons  going  to  Rio  Medio,  had  got 
it  into  his  head  that  I  was  going  there,  too.  And,  very  nat- 
urally, he  did  not  want  an  Englishman  for  a  witness  of  his 
doings. 

But  Rooksby's  behavior,  his  veiled  accusations,  his  innuendoes 
against  Carlos,  had  influenced  me  more  than  anything  else.  I  remem- 
bered a  hundred  little  things  now  that  I  knew  that  Carlos  loved 
Veronica.  I  understood  Rooksby's  jealous  impatience,  Veronica's 
friendly  glances  at  Carlos,  the  fact  that  Rooksby  had  proposed  to 
Veronica  on  the  very  day  that  Carlos  had  come  again  into  the  neigh- 
borhood with  the  runners  after  him.  I  saw  very  well  that  there 
was  no  more  connection  between  the  Casa  Riego  and  the  rascality 
of  Rio  Medio  than  there  was  between  Ralph  himself  and  old 
drunken  Rangsley  on  Hythe  beach.    There  was  less,  perhaps. 

"  Ah,  j'ou  have  had  a  sad  life,  my  Carlos,"  I  said,  after  a  long 
time. 

He  opened  his  eyes,  and  smiled  his  brave  smile.  "  Ah,  as  to 
that,"  he  said,  "  one  kept  on.  One  has  to  husband  one's  voice, 
though,  and  not  waste  it  over  lamentations.  I  have  to  tell  you — 
ah,  yes.  .  .  ."  He  paused  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  me.  "  Figure 
to  yourself  that  this  house,  this  town,  an  immense  part  of  this 
island,  much  even  yet  in  Castile  itself,  much  gold,  many  slaves,  a 
great  name — a  very  great  name — are  what  I  shall  leave  behind  me. 
Now  think  that  there  is  a  very  noble  old  man,  one  who  has  been 
very  great  in  the  world,  who  shall  die  very  soon;  then  all  these 
things  shall  go  to  a  young  girl.     That  old  man  is  very  old,  is  a 


io8  ROMANCE 

little  foolish  with  age;  that  young  girl  knows  very  little  of  the 
world,  and  is  very  passionate,  very  proud,  very  helpless. 

"  Add,  now,  to  that  a  great  menace — a  very  dangerous,  crafty, 
subtle  personage,  who  has  the  ear  of  that  old  man ;  whose  aim  it  is 
to  become  the  possessor  of  that  young  girl  and  of  that  vast  wealth. 
The  old  man  is  much  subject  to  the  other.  Old  men  are  like  that, 
especially  the  very  great.  They  have  many  things  to  think  of ;  it  is 
necessary  that  they  rely  on  somebody.  I  am,  in  fact,  speaking  of 
my  uncle  and  the  man  called  O'Brien.  You  have  seen  him." 
Carlos  spoke  in  a  voice  hardly  above  a  whisper,  but  he  stuck  to  his 
task  with  indomitable  courage.  "  If  I  die  and  leave  him  here,  he 
will  have  my  uncle  to  himself.  He  is  a  terrible  man.  Where  would 
all  that  great  fortune  go  ?  For  the  re-establishing  the  true  faith  in 
Ireland?  Quien  sabef  Into  the  hands  of  O'Brien,  at  any  rate. 
And  the  daughter,  too — a  young  girl — she  would  be  in  the  hands 
of  O'Brien,  too.  If  I  could  expect  to  live,  it  might  be  different. 
That  is  the  greatest  distress  of  all."  He  swallowed  painfully,  and 
put  his  frail  hand  on  to  the  white  ruffle  at  his  neck.  "  I  was  in 
great  trouble  to  find  how  to  thwart  this  O'Brien.  My  uncle 
went  to  Kingston  because  he  was  persuaded  it  was  his  place  to  see 
that  the  execution  of  those  unhappy  men  was  conducted  with  due 
humanity.  O'Brien  came  with  us  as  his  secretary.  I  was  in  the 
greatest  horror  of  mind.  I  prayed  for  guidance.  Then  my  eyes 
fell  upon  you,  who  were  pressed  against  our  very  carriage  wheels. 
It  was  like  an  answer  to  my  prayers."  Carlos  suddenly  reached 
out  and  caught  my  hand. 

I  thought  he  was  wandering,  and  I  was  immensely  sorry  for  him. 
He  looked  at  me  so  wistfully  with  his  immense  eyes.  He  continued 
to  press  my  hand. 

"  But  when  I  saw  you,"  he  went  on,  after  a  time,  "  it  had  come 
into  my  head,  '  That  is  the  man  who  is  sent  in  answer  to  my 
prayers.'  I  knew  it,  I  say.  If  you  could  have  my  cousin  and  my 
lands,  I  thought,  it  would  be  like  my  having  your  sister — not  quite, 
but  good  enough  for  a  man  who  is  to  die  in  a  short  while,  and  leave 
no  trace  but  a  marble  tomb.  Ah,  one  desires  very  much  to  leave 
a  mark  under  God's  blessed  sun,  and  to  be  able  to  know  a  little  how 
things  will  go  after  one  is  dead.  ...  I  arranged  the  matter  very 
quickly  in  my  mind.    There  was  the  difficulty  of  O'Brien.     If  I 


PART  SECOND  109 

had  said,  '  Here  is  the  man  who  is  to  marry  my  cousin,'  he  would 
have  had  you  or  me  murdered ;  he  would  stop  at  nothing.  So  I 
said  to  him  very  quietly,  '  Look  here,  Senor  Secretary,  that  is  the 
man  you  have  need  of  to  replace  your  Nichols — a  devil  to  fight; 
but  I  think  he  will  not  consent  without  a  little  persuasion. 
Decoy  him,  then,  to  Ramon's,  and  do  your  persuading.'  O'Brien 
was  very  glad,  because  he  thought  that  at  last  I  was  coming 
to  take  an  interest  in  his  schemes,  and  because  it  was  bringing 
humiliation  to  an  Englishman.  And  Seraphina  was  glad,  be- 
cause I  had  often  spoken  of  you  with  enthusiasm,  as  very  fearless 
and  very  honorable.  Then  I  made  that  man  Ramon  decoy  you, 
thinking  that  the  matter  would  be  left  to  me." 

That  was  what  Carlos  had  expected.  But  O'Brien,  talking  with 
Ramon,  had  heard  me  described  as  an  extreme  Separationist  so 
positively  that  he  had  thought  it  safe  to  open  himself  fully.  He 
must  have  counted,  also,  on  my  youth,  my  stupidity,  or  my  want 
of  principle.  Finding  out  his  mistake,  he  very  soon  made  up  his 
mind  how  to  act ;  and  Carlos,  fearing  that  worse  might  befall  me, 
had  let  him. 

But  when  the  young  girl  had  helped  me  to  escape,  Carlos,  who 
understood  fully  the  very  great  risks  I  ran  in  going  to  Havana  in 
the  ship  that  picked  me  up,  had  made  use  of  O'Brien's  own  pica- 
roons to  save  me  from  him.    That  was  the  story. 

Towards  the  end  his  breath  came  fast  and  short;  there  was  a 
flush  on  his  face ;  his  eyes  gazed  imploringly  at  me. 

"  You  will  stay  here,  now,  till  I  die,  and  then — I  want  you  to 
protect "    He  fell  back  on  the  pillows. 


PART  THIRD 

CASA  RIEGO 
CHAPTER  I 

A  LL  this  is  in  my  mind  now,  softened  by  distance,  by  the 
/  %  tenderness  of  things  remembered — the  wonderful  dawn  of 
±  ^  life,  with  all  the  mystery  and  promise  of  the  young  day 
breaking  amongst  heavy  thunder-clouds.  At  the  time  I  was  over- 
whelmed—I  can't  express  it  otherwise.  I  felt  like  a  man  thrown 
out  to  sink  or  swim,  trying  to  keep  his  head  above  water.  Of 
course,  I  did  not  suspect  Carlos  now ;  I  was  ashamed  of  ever  having 
done  so.  I  had  long  ago  forgiven  him  his  methods.  "  In  a  great 
need,  you  must,"  he  had  said,  looking  at  me  anxiously,  "  recur  to 
desperate  remedies."  And  he  was  going  to  die.  I  had  made  no 
answer,  and  only  hung  my  head — not  in  resentment,  but  in  doubt 
of  my  strength  to  bear  the  burden  of  the  great  trust  that  this  man 
whom  I  loved  for  his  gayety,  his  recklessness  and  romance,  was 
going  to  leave  in  my  inexperienced  hands. 

He  had  talked  till,  at  last  exhausted,  he  sank  back  gently  on  the 
pillows  of  the  enormous  bed  emblazoned  like  a  monument.  I  went 
out,  following  a  gray-headed  negro,  and  the  nun  glided  in,  and 
stood  at  the  foot  with  her  white  hands  folded  patiently. 

"  Senor!  "  I  heard  her  mutter  reproachfully  to  the  invalid. 

"  Do  not  scold  a  poor  sinner,  Doiia  Maria,"  he  addressed  her 
feebly,  with  valiant  jocularity.    "  The  days  are  not  many  now." 

The  strangeness  and  tremendousness  of  what  was  happening 
came  over  me  very  strongly  whilst,  in  a  large  chamber  with  barred 
loopholes,  I  was  throwing  off  the  rags  in  which  I  had  entered  this 
house.  The  night  had  come  already,  and  I  was  putting  on  some 
of  Carlos'  clothes  by  the  many  flames  of  candles  burning  in  a  tall 
bronze  candelabrum,  whose  three  legs  figured  the  paws  of  a  lion. 
And  never,  since  I  had  gone  on  the  road  to  wait  for  the  smugglers, 


112  ROMANCE 

and  be  choked  by  the  Bow  Street  runners,  had  I  remembered  so 
well  the  house  in  which  I  was  born.  It  was  as  if,  till  then,  I  had 
never  felt  the  need  to  look  back.  But  now,  like  something  roman- 
tic and  glamourous,  there  came  before  me  Veronica's  sweet,  dim 
face,  my  mother's  severe  and  resolute  countenance.  I  had  need  of 
all  her  resoluteness  now.  And  I  remembered  the  figure  of  my 
father  in  the  big  chair  by  the  ingle,  powerless  and  lost  in  his  search 
for  rhymes.  He  might  have  understood  the  romance  of  my  situ- 
ation. 

It  grew  upon  me  as  I  thought.  Don  Balthasar,  I  understood, 
was  apprised  of  my  arrival.  As  in  a  dream,  I  followed  the  old 
negro,  who  had  returned  to  the  door  of  my  room.  It  grew  upon 
me  in  the  silence  of  this  colonnaded  court.  We  walked  along  the 
upper  gallery ;  his  cane  tapped  before  mie  on  the  tesselated  pavement ; 
below,  the  water  splashed  in  the  marble  basins;  glass  lanthorns 
hung  glimmering  between  the  pillars  and,  in  wrought  silver  frames, 
lighted  the  broad  white  staircase.  Under  the  inner  curve  of  the 
vaulted  gateway  a  black-faced  man  on  guard,  with  a  bell-mouthed 
gun,  rose  from  a  stool  at  our  passing.  I  thought  I  saw  Castro's 
peaked  hat  and  large  cloak  flit  in  the  gloom  into  which  fell  the 
light  from  the  small  doorway  of  a  sort  of  guardroom  near  the 
closed  gate.  We  continued  along  the  arcaded  walk;  a  double 
curtain  was  drawn  to  right  and  left  before  me,  while  my  guide 
stepped  aside. 

In  a  vast  white  apartment  three  black  figures  stood  about  a 
central  glitter  of  crystal  and  silver.  At  once  the  aged,  slightly 
mechanical  voice  of  Don  Balthasar  rose  thinly,  putting  himself  and 
his  house  at  my  disposition. 

The  formality  of  movement,  of  voices,  governed  and  checked  the 
unbounded  emotions  of  my  wonder.  The  two  ladies  sank,  with  a 
rustle  of  starch  and  stiff  silks,  in  answer  to  my  profound  bow.  I 
had  just  enough  control  over  myself  to  accomplish  that,  but  men- 
tally I  was  out  of  breath;  and  when  I  felt  the  slight,  trembling 
touch  of  Don  Balthasar's  hand  resting  on  my  inclined  head,  it  was 
as  if  I  had  suddenly  become  aware  for  a  moment  of  the  earth's 
motion.  The  hand  was  gone ;  his  face  was  averted,  and  a  corpulent 
priest,  all  straight  and  black  below  his  rosy  round  face,  had  stepped 
forward  to  say  a  Latin  grace  in  solemn  tones  that  wheezed  a  little. 


PART  THIRD  ii^ 

As  soon  as  he  had  done  he  withdrew  with  a  circular  bow  to  the 
ladies,  to  Don  Balthasar,  who  inclined  his  silvery  head.  His  life- 
less voice  propounded : 

"  Our  excellent  Father  Antonio,  in  his  devotion,  dines  by  the 
bedside  of  our  beloved  Carlos."  He  sighed.  The  heavy  carvings 
of  his  chair  rose  upright  at  his  back ;  he  sat  with  his  head  leaning 
forward  over  his  silver  plate.  A  heavy  silence  fell.  Death  hovered 
over  that  table — and  also,  as  if  the  breath  of  past  ages.  The  mul- 
titude of  lights,  the  polished  floor  of  costly  wood,  the  bare  white- 
ness of  walls  wainscoted  with  marble,  the  vastness  of  the  room, 
the  imposing  forms  of  furniture,  carved  heavily  in  ebony,  impressed 
me  with  a  sense  of  secular  and  austere  magnificence.  For  cen- 
turies there  had  alwaj^s  been  a  Riego  living  in  this  fortress-like 
palace,  ruling  this  portion  of  the  New  World  with  the  whole  maj- 
esty of  his  race.  And  I  thought  of  the  long,  loop-holed,  buttressed 
walls  that  this  abode  of  noble  adventurers  presented  foursquare  to 
the  night  outside,  standing  there  by  the  seashore  like  a  tomb  of 
warlike  glories.  They  built  their  houses  thus,  centuries  ago,  when 
the  bands  of  buccaneers,  indomitable  and  atrocious,  had  haunted 
their  conquest  with  a  reminder  of  mortality  and  weakness. 

It  was  a  tremendous  thing  for  me,  this  dinner.  The  portly 
duenna  on  my  left  had  a  round  eye  and  an  irritated,  parrot-like 
profile,  crowned  by  a  high  comb,  a  head  shaded  by  black  lace.  I 
dared  hardly  lift  my  eyes  to  the  dark  and  radiant  presence  facing 
me  across  a  table  furniture  that  was  like  a  display  of  treasure. 

But  I  did  look.  She  was  the  girl  of  the  lizard,  the  girl  of  the 
dagger,  and,  in  the  solemnity  of  the  silence,  she  was  like  a  fabulous 
apparition  from  a  half-forgotten  tale.  I  watched  covertly  the 
youthful  grace  of  her  features.  The  curve  of  her  cheek  filled  me 
with  delight.  From  time  to  time  she  shook  the  heavy  clusters  of 
her  curls,  and  I  was  amazed,  as  though  I  had  never  before  seen  a 
woman's  hair.  Each  parting  of  her  lips  was  a  distinct  anticipation 
of  a  great  felicity;  when  she  said  a  few  words  to  me,  I  felt  an 
inward  trembling.    They  were  indifferent  words. 

Had  she  forgotten  she  was  the  girl  with  the  dagger?  And  the 
old  Don?  What  did  that  old  man  know?  What  did  he  think? 
What  did  he  mean  by  that  touch  of  a  blessing  on  my  head  ?  Did 
he  know  how  I  had  come  to  his  house?    But  every  turn  of  her  head 


114  ROMANCE 

troubled  my  thoughts.  The  movements  of  her  hands  made  me 
forget  myself.  The  gravity  of  her  eyes  above  the  smile  of  her  lips 
suggested  ideas  of  adoration. 

We  were  served  noiselessly.  A  battalion  of  young  lusty  negroes, 
in  blue  jackets  laced  w^ith  silver,  walked  about  barefooted  under 
the  command  of  the  old  major-domo.  He,  alone,  had  white  silk 
stockings,  and  shoes  with  silver  buckles;  his  wide-skirted  maroon 
velvet  coat,  with  gold  on  the  collar  and  cuffs,  hung  low  about  his 
thin  shanks;  and,  with  a  long  ebony  staff  in  his  hand,  he  directed 
the  service  from  behind  Don  Balthasar's  chair.  At  times  he  bent 
towards  his  master's  ear.  Don  Balthasar  answered  with  a  mur- 
mur: and  those  two  faces  brought  close  together,  one  like  a  noble 
ivory  carving,  the  other  black  with  the  mute  pathos  of  the  African 
faces,  seemed  to  commune  in  a  fellowship  of  age,  of  things  far  off, 
remembered,  lived  through  together.  There  was  something  mys- 
terious and  touching  in  this  violent  contrast,  toned  down  by  the 
near  approach  to  the  tomb — the  brotherhood  of  master  and  slave. 

At  a  given  moment  an  enormous  iron  key  was  brought  in  on  a 
silver  salver,  and,  bending  ovar  the  chair,  the  gray-headed  negro 
laid  it  by  Don  Balthasar's  plate. 

"  Don  Carlos'  orders,"  he  muttered. 

The  old  Don  seemed  to  wake  up;  a  little  color  mounted  to  his 
cheeks. 

"  There  was  a  time,  young  caballero,  when  the  gates  of  Casa 
Riego  stood  open  night  and  day  to  the  griefs  and  poverty  of  the 
people,  like  the  doors  of  a  church — and  as  respected.  But  now  it 
seems   ..." 

He  mumbled  a  little  peevishly,  but  seemed  to  recollect  himself. 
"  The  safety  of  his  guest  is  like  the  breath  of  life  to  a  Castilian," 
he  ended,  with  a  benignant  but  attentive  look  at  me. 

He  rose,  and  we  passed  out  through  the  double  lines  of  the  ser- 
vants ranged  from  table  to  door.  By  the  splash  of  the  fountain, 
on  a  little  round  table  between  two  chairs,  stood  a  many-branched 
candlestick.  The  duenna  sat  down  opposite  Don  Balthasar.  A 
multitude  of  stars  was  suspended  over  the  breathless  peace  of  the 
court. 

"  Senorita,"  I  began,  mustering  all  my  courage,  and  all  my 
Spanish,  "  I  do  not  know " 


PART  THIRD  115 

She  was  walking  by  my  side  with  upright  carriage  and  a  noncha- 
lant step,  and  shut  her  fan  smartly. 

"  Don  Carlos  himself  had  given  me  the  dagger,"  she  said 
rapidly. 

The  fan  flew  open ;  a  touch  of  the  wind  fanning  her  person  came 
faintly  upon  my  cheek  with  a  suggestion  of  delicate  perfume. 

She  noticed  my  confusion,  and  said,  "  Let  us  walk  to  the  end, 
senor." 

The  old  man  and  the  duenna  had  cards  in  their  hands  now.  The 
intimate  tone  of  her  words  ravished  me  into  the  seventh  heaven. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  when  we  were  out  of  ear-shot,  "  I  have  the 
spirit  of  my  house;  but  I  am  only  a  weak  girl.  We  have  taken 
this  resolution  because  of  your  hidalguidad,  because  you  are  our 
kinsman,  because  you  are  English.  Ay  de  mi!  Would  I  had  been 
a  man.  My  father  needs  a  son  in  his  great,  great  age.  Poor 
father!    Poor  Don  Carlos !  " 

There  was  the  catch  of  a  sob  in  the  shadow  of  the  end  gallery. 
We  turned  back,  and  the  undulation  of  her  walk  seemed  to  throw 
me  into  a  state  of  exaltation. 

"  On  the  word  of  an  Englishman "  I  began. 

The  fan  touched  my  arm.  The  eyes  of  the  duenna  glittered  over 
the  cards. 

"  This  woman  belongs  to  that  man,  too."  muttered  Seraphina. 
"  And  yet  she  used  to  be  faithful — almost  a  mother.  Misericordia! 
Senor,  there  is  no  one  in  this  unhappy  place  that  he  has  not  bought, 
corrupted,  frightened,  or  bent  to  his  will — to  his  madness  of  hate 
against  England.  Of  our  poor  he  has  made  a  rabble.  The  bishop 
himself  is  afraid." 

Such  was  the  beginning  of  our  first  conversation  in  this  court 
suggesting  the  cloistered  peace  of  a  convent.  We  strolled  to  and 
fro;  she  dropped  her  eyelids,  and  the  agitation  of  her  mind,  pic- 
tured in  the  almost  fierce  swiftness  of  her  utterance,  made  a  won- 
derful contrast  to  the  leisurely  rhythm  of  her  movements,  marked 
by  the  slow  beating  of  the  fan.  The  retirement  of  her  father  from 
the  world  after  her  mother's  death  had  made  a  great  solitude  round 
his  declining  years.  Yes,  that  sorrow,  and  the  base  intrigues  of 
that  man — a  fugitive,  a  hanger-on  of  her  mother's  family — recom- 
mended to  Don  Balthasar's  grace  by  her  mother's  favor.    Yes!    He 


ii6  ROMANCE 

had,  before  she  died,  thrown  his  baneful  influence  even  upon  that 
saintly  spirit,  by  the  piety  of  his  practices  and  these  sufferings  for 
his  faith  he  always  paraded.  His  faith !  Oh,  hypocrite,  hypocrite, 
hypocrite!  His  only  faith  was  hate — the  hate  of  England.  He 
would  sacrifice  everything  to  it.  He  would  despoil  and  ruin  his 
greatest  benefactors,  this  fatal  man ! 

"  Senor,  my  cousin,"  she  said  picturesquely,  "  he  would,  if  he 
could,  drop  poison  into  every  spring  of  clear  water  in  your  country. 
.    .  .    Smile,  Don  Juan." 

Her  repressed  vehemence  had  held  me  spellbound,  and  the  silvery 
little  burst  of  laughter  ending  her  fierce  tirade  had  the  bewildering 
effect  of  a  crash  on  my  mind.  The  other  two  looked  up  from  their 
cards. 

"  I  pretend  to  laugh  to  deceive  that  woman,"  she  explained 
quickly.    "  I  used  to  love  her." 

She  had  no  one  now  about  her  she  could  trust  or  love.  It  was 
as  if  the  whole  world  were  blind  to  the  nefarious  nature  of  that 
man.  He  had  possessed  himself  of  her  little  father's  mind.  I 
glanced  towards  the  old  Don,  who  at  that  moment  was  brokenly 
taking  a  pinch  of  snuff  out  of  a  gold  snuff-box,  while  the 
duenna,  very  sallow  and  upright,  waited,  frowning  loftily  at  her 
cards. 

"  It  seemed  as  if  nothing  could  restrain  that  man,"  Seraphina's 
voice  went  on  by  my  side,  "  neither  fear  nor  gratitude."  He 
seemed  to  cast  a  spell  upon  people.  He  was  the  plenipotentiary  of 
a  powerful  religious  order — no  matter.  Don  Carlos  knew  these 
things  better  than  she  did.  He  had  the  ear  of  the  Captain-General 
through  that.  "Sh!  But  the  intrigues,  the  intrigues!"  I  saw 
her  little  hand  clenched  on  the  closed  fan.  There  were  no  bounds 
to  his  audacity.  He  wasted  their  wealth.  "  The  audacity !  "  He 
had   overawed   her   father's  mind ;   he  claimed   descent   from   his 

Irish  kings,  he  who "  Senor,  my  English  cousin,  he  even 

dares  aspire  to  my  person." 

The  game  of  cards  was  over. 

"  Death  rather,"  she  let  fall  in  a  whisper  of  calm  resolution. 

She  dropped  me  a  deep  courtesy.  Servants  were  ranging  them- 
selves in  a  row,  holding  upright  before  their  black  faces  wax  lights 
in  tall  silver  candlesticks  inherited  from  the  second  Viceroy  of 


PART  THIRD  117 

Mexico.  I  bowed  profoundly,  with  indignation  on  her  behalf  and 
horror  in  my  breast ;  and,  turning  away  from  me,  she  sank  low, 
bending  her  head  to  receive  her  father's  blessing.  The  major-domo 
preceded  the  cortege.  The  two  women  moved  away  with  an  ample 
rustling  of  silk,  and  wath  lights  carried  on  each  side  of  their  black, 
stiff  figures.  Before  they  had  disappeared  up  the  wide  staircase, 
Don  Balthasar,  v.-ho  had  stood  perfectly  motionless  with  his  old 
face  over  his  snuff-box,  seemed  to  wake  up,  and  made  in  the  air  a 
hasty  sign  of  the  cross  after  his  daughter. 

They  appeared  again  in  the  upper  gallery  between  the  columns. 
I  saw  her  head,  draped  in  lace,  carried  proudly,  with  the  white 
flower  in  her  hair.  I  raised  my  eyes.  All  my  being  seemed  to 
strive  upwards  in  that  glance.  Had  she  turned  her  face  my  way 
just  a  little?  Illusion!  And  the  double  door  above  closed  with 
an  echoing  sound  along  the  empty  galleries.  She  had  disap- 
peared. 

Don  Balthasar  took  three  turns  in  the  courtyard,  no  more.  It 
was  evidently  a  daily  custom.  When  he  withdrew  his  hand  from 
my  arm  to  tap  his  snuff-box,  we  stood  still  till  he  was  ready  to  slip 
it  in  again.  This  was  the  strangest  part  of  it,  the  most  touching, 
the  most  startling — that  he  should  lean  like  this  on  me,  as  if  he  had 
done  it  for  years.  Before  me  there  must  have  been  somebody  else. 
Carlos?  Carlos,  no  doubt.  And  in  this  placing  me  in  that  position 
there  was  apparent  the  work  of  death,  the  work  of  life,  of  time,  the 
pathetic  realization  of  an  inevitable  destiny.  He  talked  a  little 
disjointedly,  with  the  uncertain  swaying  of  a  shadow  on  his 
thoughts,  as  if  the  light  of  his  mind  had  flickered  like  an  expiring 
lamp.  I  remember  that  once  he  asked  me,  in  a  sort  of  senile  worry, 
whether  I  had  ever  heard  of  an  Irish  king  called  Brian  Boru; 
but  he  did  not  seem  to  attach  any  importance  to  my  reply, 
and  spoke  no  more  till  he  said  good-night  at  the  door  of  my 
chamber. 

He  went  on  to  his  apartments,  surrounded  by  lights  and  pre- 
ceded by  his  major-domo,  who  walked  as  bowed  with  age  as  him- 
self; but  the  African  had  a  firmer  step. 

I  watched  him  go;  there  was  about  his  progress  in  state  some- 
thing ghostlike  and  royal,  an  old-time,  decayed  majesty.  It  was  as 
if  he  had  arisen  before  me  after  a  hundred  years'  sleep  in  his  retreat 


ii8  ROMANCE 

— that  man  who,  in  his  wild  and  passionate  youth,  had  endangered 
the  wealth  of  the  Riegos,  had  been  the  idol  of  the  Madrid  populace, 
and  a  source  of  dismay  to  his  family.  He  had  carried  away,  vi  et 
armis,  a  nun  from  a  convent,  incurring  the  enmity  of  the  Church 
and  the  displeasure  of  his  sovereign.  He  had  sacrificed  all  his 
fortune  in  Europe  to  the  service  of  his  king,  had  fought  against  the 
French,  had  a  price  put  upon  his  head  by  a  special  proclamation. 
He  had  known  passion,  power,  war,  exile,  and  love.  He  had  been 
thanked  by  his  returned  king,  honored  for  his  wisdom,  and 
crushed  with  sorrow  by  the  death  of  his  young  wife — Seraphina's 
mother. 

What  a  life !  And  what  was  my  arm — my  arm  on  which  he  had 
leaned  in  his  decay?  I  looked  at  it  with  a  sort  of  surprise, 
dubiously.  What  was  expected  of  it?  I  asked  myself.  Would  it 
have  the  strength  ?    Ah,  let  her  only  lean  on  it ! 

It  seemed  to  me  that  I  would  have  the  power  to  shake  down 
heavy  pillars  of  stone,  like  Samson,  in  her  service ;  to  reach  up  and 
take  the  stars,  one  by  one,  to  lay  at  her  feet.  I  heard  a  sigh.  A 
shadow  appeared  in  the  gallery. 

The  door  of  my  room  was  open.  Leaning  my  back  against  the 
balustrade,  I  saw  the  black  figure  of  the  Father  Antonio,  mutter- 
ing over  his  breviary,  enter  the  space  of  the  light. 

He  crossed  himself,  and  stopped  with  a  friendly,  "  You  are 
taking  the  air,  my  son.  The  night  is  warm."  He  was  rubicund, 
and  his  little  eyes  looked  me  over  with  priestly  mansuetude. 

I  said  it  was  warm  indeed.    I  liked  him  instinctively. 

He  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  starry  sky.  "  The  orbs  are  shining 
excessively,"  he  said;  then  added,  "To  the  greater  glory  of  God. 
One  is  never  tired  of  contemplating  this  sublime  spectacle." 

"  How  is  Don  Carlos,  your  reverence?  "  I  asked. 

"  My  beloved  penitent  sleeps,"  he  answ^ered,  peering  at  me 
benevolently;  "  he  reposes.  Do  you  know,  young  caballero,  that  I 
have  been  a  prisoner  of  war  in  your  country,  and  am  acquainted 
with  Londres?  I  was  chaplain  of  the  ship  San  Jose  at  the  battle  of 
Trafalgar.  On  my  soul,  it  is,  indeed,  a  blessed,  fertile  country,  full 
of  beauty  and  of  well-disposed  hearts.  I  have  never  failed  since 
to  say  every  day  an  especial  prayer  for  its  return  to  our  holy  mother, 
the  Church.    Because  I  love  it." 


PART  THIRD  119 

I  said  nothing  to  this,  only  bowing;  and  he  laid  a  short,  thick 
hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"  May  your  coming  amongst  us,  my  son,  bring  calmness  to  a 
Christian  soul  too  much  troubled  with  the  affairs  of  this  world." 
He  sighed,  nodded  to  me  with  a  friendly,  sad  smile,  and  began  to 
mutter  his  prayers  as  he  went. 


CHAPTER  II 

DON  BALTHASAR  accepted  my  presence  without  a 
question.  Perhaps  he  fancied  he  had  invited  me;  of  my 
manner  of  coming  he  was  ignorant,  of  course.  O'Brien, 
who  had  gone  on  to  Havana  in  the  ship  which  had  landed  the 
Riegos  in  Rio  Medio,  gave  no  sign  of  life.  And  yet,  on  the  arrival 
of  the  Breeze,  he  must  have  found  out  I  was  no  longer  on  board. 
I  forgot  the  danger  suspended  over  my  head.  For  a  fortnight  I 
lived  as  if  in  a  dream. 

"  What  is  the  action  you  want  me  to  take,  Carlos?  "  I  asked  one 
day. 

Propped  up  with  pillows,  he  looked  at  me  with  the  big  eyes  of 
his  emaciation. 

"  I  would  like  best  to  see  you  marry  my  cousin.  Once  before 
a  woman  of  our  race  had  married  an  Englishman.  She  had  been 
happy.  English  things  last  forever — English  peace,  English  power, 
English  fidelity.  It  is  a  country  of  much  serenity,  of  order,  of 
stable  affection.   .   .   ." 

His  voice  was  very  weak  and  full  of  faith.  I  remained  silent, 
overwhelmed  at  this  secret  of  my  innermost  heart,  voiced  by  his 
bloodless  lips — as  if  a  dream  had  come  to  pass,  as  if  a  miracle  had 
taken  place.  He  added,  with  an  indefinable  smile  of  an  almost 
unearthly  wistf ulness : 

"  I  would  have  married  your  sister,  my  Juan." 

He  had  on  him  the  glamour  of  things  English — of  English  power 
emerging  from  the  dust  of  wars  and  revolution ;  of  England  stable 
and  undismayed,  like  a  strong  man  who  had  kept  his  feet  in  the 
tottering  of  secular  edifices  shaken  to  their  foundations  by  an  earth- 
quake. It  was  as  if  for  him  that  were  something  fine,  something 
romantic,  just  as  for  me.  Romance  had  always  seemed  to  be 
embodied  in  his  features,  in  his  glance,  and  to  live  in  the  air  he 
breathed.  On  the  other  side  of  the  bed  the  old  Don,  lost  in  a  high- 
backed  armchair,  remained  plunged  in  that  meditation  of  the  old 

120 


PART  THIRD  121 

which  resembles  sleep,  as  sleep  resembles  death.  The  priest,  lighted 
up  by  the  narrow,  bright  streak  of  the  window,  was  reading  his 
breviary  through  a  pair  of  enormous  spectacles.  The  white  coif  of 
the  nun  hovered  in  distant  corners  of  the  room. 

We  were  constantly  talking  of  O'Brien.  He  was  the  only 
subject  of  all  our  conversations;  and  when  Carlos  inveighed  against 
the  Intendente,  the  old  Don  nodded  sadly  in  his  chair.  He  was 
dishonoring  the  name  of  the  Riegos,  Carlos  would  exclaim  feebly, 
turning  his  head  towards  his  uncle.  His  uncle's  own  province,  the 
name  of  his  own  town,  stood  for  a  refuge  of  the  scum  of  the  An- 
tilles. It  was  a  shameful  sanctuary.  Every  ruffian,  rascal,  mur- 
derer, and  thief  of  the  West  Indies  had  come  to  think  of  this 
ancient  and  honorable  town  as  a  safe  haven. 

I  myself  could  very  well  remember  the  Jamaica  household  ex- 
pression, "  The  Rio  Medio  piracies,"  and  all  these  paragraphs  in 
the  home  papers  that  reached  us  a  month  old,  headed,  "  The  Ac- 
tivity of  the  So-called  Mexican  Privateers,"  and  urging  upon  our 
Government  the  necessity  of  energetic  remonstrances  in  Madrid. 
"  The  fact,  incredible  as  it  may  appear,"  said  the  writers,  "seeming 
to  be  that  the  nest  of  these  Picaroons  is  actually  within  the  loyal 
dominions  of  the  Spanish  Crown."  If  Spain,  our  press  said,  re- 
sented our  recognition  of  South  American  independence,  let  it  do 
so  openly,  not  by  countenancing  criminals.  It  was  unworthy  of  a 
great  nation.  "  Our  West  Indian  trade  is  being  stabbed  in  the 
back,"  declaimed  the  Bristol  Mirror.  "Where  is  our  fleet?"  it 
asked.  "  If  the  Cuban  authorities  are  unable  or  unwilling,  let  us 
take  the  matter  in  our  own  hands." 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  mystery  about  this  peculiar  outbreak 
of  lawlessness  that  seemed  to  be  directed  so  pointedly  against  the 
British  trade.  The  town  of  Rio  Medio  was  alluded  to  as  one  of 
the  unapproachable  towns  of  the  earth — closed,  like  the  capital  of 
Prester  John  to  the  travelers,  or  Mecca  to  the  infidels.  Nobody 
I  ever  met  in  Jamaica  had  set  eyes  on  the  place.  The  impression 
prevailed  that  no  stranger  could  come  out  of  it  alive.  Incredible 
stories  were  told  of  it  in  the  island,  and  indignation  at  its  existence 
grew  at  home  and  in  the  colonies. 

Admiral  Rowley,  an  old  fighter,  grown  a  bit  lazy,  no  diplomatist 
(the  stones  of  his  being  venial,  I  take  it,  were  simply  abominable 


122  ROMANCE 

calumnies),  unable  to  get  anything  out  of  the  Cuban  authorities 
but  promises  and  lofty  protestations,  had  made  up  his  mind,  under 
direct  pressure  from  home,  to  take  matters  into  his  own  hands.  His 
boat  attack  had  been  a  half-and-half  affair,  for  all  that.  He  in- 
tended, he  had  said,  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  the  thing,  and  find  out 
what  there  was  in  the  place ;  but  he  could  not  believe  that  anybody 
would  dare  offer  resistance  to  the  boats  of  an  English  squadron. 
They  were  sent  in  as  if  for  an  exploration  rather  than  for  an  armed 
landing. 

It  ended  in  a  disaster,  and  a  sense  of  wonder  had  been  added  to 
the  mystery  of  the  fabulous  Rio  Medio  organization.  The  Cuban 
authorities  protested  against  the  warlike  operations  attempted  in  a 
friendly  country;  at  the  same  time,  they  had  delivered  the  seven 
pirates — the  men  whom  I  saw  hanged  in  Kingston.  And  Rowley 
was  recalled  home  in  disgrace. 

It  was  my  extraordinary  fate  to  penetrate  into  this  holy  city  of 
the  last  organized  piracy  the  world  would  ever  know.  I  beheld  it 
with  my  eyes;  I  had  stood  on  the  point  behind  the  very  battery  of 
guns  which  had  swept  Rowley's  boats  out  of  existence. 

The  narrow  entrance  faced,  across  the  water,  the  great  portal 
of  the  cathedral.  Rio  Medio  had  been  a  place  of  some  splendor  in 
its  time.  The  ruinous  heavy  buildings  clung  to  the  hillsides,  and 
my  eyes  plunged  into  a  broad  vista  of  an  empty  and  magnificent 
street.  Behind  many  of  the  imposing  and  escutcheoned  frontages 
there  was  nothing  but  heaps  of  rubble ;  the  footsteps  of  rare  passers- 
by  woke  lonely  echoes,  and  strips  of  grass  outlined  in  parallelograms 
the  flagstones  of  the  roadway.  The  Casa  Riego  raised  its  but- 
tressed and  loop-holed  bulk  near  the  shore,  resembling  a  defensive 
outwork;  on  my  other  hand  the  shallow  bay,  vast,  placid,  and 
shining,  extended  itself  behind  the  strip  of  coast  like  an  enormous 
lagoon.  The  fronds  of  palm-clusters  dotted  the  beach  over  the 
glassy  shimmer  of  the  far  distance.  The  dark  and  wooded  slopes 
of  the  hills  closed  the  view  inland  on  every  side. 

Under  the  palms  the  green  masses  of  vegetation  concealed  the 
hovels  of  the  rabble.  There  were  three  so-called  villages  at  the 
bottom  of  the  bay;  and  that  good  Catholic  and  terrible  man,  Senor 
Juez  O'Brien,  could  with  a  simple  nod  send  every  man  in  them  to 
the  gallows. 


PART  THIRD  123 

The  respectable  population  of  Rio  Medio,  leading  a  cloistered 
existence  in  the  ruins  of  old  splendor,  used  to  call  that  thievish 
rabble  Lugarehos — villagers.  They  were  sea-thieves,  but  they 
were  dangerous. 

At  night,  from  these  clusters  of  hovels  surrounded  by  the  banana 
plantations,  there  issued  a  villainous  noise,  the  humming  of  hived 
scoundrels.  Lights  twinkled.  One  could  hear  the  thin  twanging 
of  guitars,  uproarious  songs,  all  the  sounds  of  their  drinking,  sing- 
ing, gambling,  quarreling,  love-making,  squalor.  Sometimes  the 
long  shriek  of  a  woman  rent  the  air,  or  shouting  tumults  rose  and 
subsided ;  while,  on  the  other  side  of  the  cathedral,  the  houses  of 
the  past,  the  houses  without  life,  showed  no  light  and  made  no 
sound. 

There  would  be  no  strollers  on  the  beach  in  the  daytime;  the 
masts  of  the  two  schooners  (bought  in  the  United  States  by 
O'Brien  to  make  war  with  on  the  British  Empire)  appeared  like 
slender  sticks  far  away  up  the  empty  stretch  of  water;  and  that 
gathering  of  ruffians,  thieves,  murderers,  and  runaway  slaves  slept 
in  their  noisome  dens.  Their  habits  were  obscene  and  nocturnal. 
Cruel  without  hardihood,  and  greedy  without  courage,  they  were 
no  skull-and-crossbones  pirates  of  the  old  kind,  that,  under  the 
black  flag,  neither  gave  nor  expected  quarter.  Their  usual  prac- 
tice was  to  hang  in  rowboats  round  some  unfortunate  ship  be- 
calmed in  sight  of  their  coast,  like  a  troop  of  vultures  hopping  about 
the  carcass  of  a  dead  buffalo  on  a  plain.  When  they  judged  the 
thing  was  fairly  safe,  they  would  attack  with  a  great  noise  and 
show  of  ferocity ;  do  some  hasty  looting  amongst  the  cargo ;  break 
into  the  cabins  for  watches,  wearing  apparel,  and  so  on ;  perpetrate 
at  times  some  atrocity,  such  as  singeing  the  soles  of  some  poor 
devil  of  a  ship-master,  when  they  had  positive  information  (from 
such  affiliated  helpers  as  Ramon,  the  storekeeper  in  Jamaica)  that 
there  was  coined  money  concealed  on  board ;  and  take  themselves 
off  to  their  sordid  revels  on  shore,  and  to  hold  auctions  of  looted 
property  on  the  beach.  These  were  attended  by  people  from  the 
interior  of  the  province,  and  now  and  then  even  the  Havana  dealers 
would  come  on  the  quiet  to  secure  a  few  pieces  of  silk  or  a  cask 
or  two  of  French  wine.  Tomas  Castro  could  not  mention  them 
without  spitting  in  sign  of  contempt.    And  it  was  with  that  base 


124  ROMANCE 

crew  that  O'Brien  imagined  himself  to  be  making  war  on  the 
British  Empire! 

In  the  time  of  Nichols  it  did  look  as  if  they  were  really  becoming 
enterprising.  They  had  actually  chased  and  boarded  ships  sixty 
miles  out  at  sea.  It  seems  he  had  inspired  them  with  audacity  by 
means  of  kicks,  blows,  and  threats  of  instant  death,  after  the 
manner  of  Bluenose  sailors.  His  long  limbs,  the  cadaverous  and 
menacing  aspect,  the  strange  nasal  ferocity  of  tone,  something 
mocking  and  desperate  in  his  aspect,  had  persuaded  them  that  this 
unique  sort  of  heretic  was  literally  in  league  with  the  devil.  He 
had  been  the  most  efficient  of  the  successive  leaders  O'Brien  had 
imported  to  give  some  sort  of  effect  to  his  warlike  operations.  I 
laugh  and  wonder  as  I  write  these  words;  but  the  man  did  look 
upon  it  as  a  war  and  nothing  else.  What  he  had  had  the  audacity 
to  propose  to  me  had  been  treason,  not  thieving.  It  had  a  glamour 
for  him  which,  he  supposed,  a  Separationist  (as  I  had  the  reputa- 
tion of  being)  could  not  fail  to  see.  He  was  thinking  of  enlarging 
his  activity,  of  getting  really  in  touch  Vv-ith  the  Mexican  Junta  of 
rebels.  As  he  had  said,  he  needed  a  gentleman  now.  These  were 
Carlos'  surmises. 

Before  Nichols  there  had  been  a  rather  bloodthirsty  Frenchman, 
but  he  got  himself  stabbed  in  an  aguardiente  shop  for  blaspheming 
the  Virgin.  Nichols,  as  far  as  I  could  understand,  had  really 
grown  scared  at  O'Brien's  success  in  repulsing  Rowley's  boats;  he 
had  mysteriously  disappeared,  and  neither  of  the  two  schooners 
had  been  out  till  the  day  of  my  kidnaping,  when  Castro,  by  order 
of  Carlos,  had  taken  the  command.  The  freebooters  of  Rio  Medio 
had  returned  to  their  cautious  and  petty  pilfering  in  boats,  from 
such  unlucky  ships  as  the  chance  of  the  weather  had  delivered  into 
their  hands.  I  heard,  also,  during  my  walks  with  Castro  (he 
attended  me  wrapped  in  his  cloak,  and  with  two  pistols  in  his  belt), 
that  there  were  great  jealousies  and  bickerings  amongst  that  base 
populace.  They  were  divided  into  two  parties.  For  instance,  the 
rascals  living  in  the  easternmost  village  accepted  tacitly  the  leader- 
ship of  a  certain  Domingo,  a  mulatto,  keeper  of  a  vile  grogshop, 
who  was  skilled  in  the  art  of  throwing  a  knife  to  a  great  distance. 
Manuel-del-Popolo,  the  extraordinary  improvisador  with  the  gui- 
tar, was  an  aspirant  for  power  with  a  certain  following  of  his  own. 


PART  THIRD  125 

Words  could  not  express  Castro's  scorn  for  these  fellows.  La- 
drones!  vermin  of  the  earth,  scum  of  the  sea,  he  called  them. 

His  position,  of  course,  was  exceptional.  A  dependent  of  the 
Riegos,  a  familiar  of  the  Casa,  he  was  infinitely  removed  from  a 
Domingo  or  a  Manuel.  He  lived  soberly,  like  a  Spaniard,  in  some 
hut  in  the  nearest  of  the  villages,  with  an  old  woman  who  swept 
the  earth  floor  and  cooked  his  food  at  an  outside  fire — his  puchero 
and  tortillas — 'and  rolled  for  him  his  provision  of  cigarettes  for  the 
day.  Every  morning  he  marched  up  to  the  Casa,  like  a  courtier,  to 
attend  on  his  king.  I  never  saw  him  eat  or  drink  anything  there. 
He  leaned  a  shoulder  against  the  wall,  or  sat  on  the  floor  of  the 
gallery  with  his  short  legs  stretched  out  near  the  big  mahogany  door 
of  Carlos'  room,  with  many  cigarettes  stuck  behind  his  ears  and  in 
the  band  of  his  hat.  When  these  were  gone  he  grubbed  for  more 
in  the  depths  of  his  clothing,  somewhere  near  his  skin.  Puffs  of 
smoke  issued  from  his  pursed  lips;  and  the  desolation  of  his  pose, 
the  sorrow  of  his  round,  wrinkled  face,  was  so  great  that  it  seemed 
were  he  to  cease  smoking,  he  would  die  of  grief. 

The  general  effect  of  the  place  was  of  vitality  exhausted,  of  a 
body  calcined,  of  romance  turned  into  stone.  The  still  air,  the  hot 
sunshine,  the  white  beach  curving  around  the  deserted  sheet  of 
water,  the  somber  green  of  the  hills,  had  the  motionlessness  of 
things  petrified,  the  vividness  of  things  painted,  the  sadness  of 
things  abandoned,  desecrated.  And,  as  if  alone  intrusted  with  the 
guardianship  of  life's  sacred  fire,  I  was  moving  amongst  them, 
nursing  my  love  for  Seraphina.  The  words  of  Carlos  were  like 
oil  upon  a  flame;  it  enveloped  me  from  head  to  foot  with  a  leap. 
I  had  the  phj^sical  sensation  of  breathing  it,  of  seeing  it,  of  being  at 
the  same  time  driven  on  and  restrained.  One  moment  I  strode 
blindly  over  the  sand,  the  next  I  stood  still ;  and  Castro,  coming  up 
panting,  would  remark  from  behind  that,  on  such  a  hot  day  as  this, 
it  was  a  shame  to  disturb  even  a  dog  sleeping  in  the  shade.  I  had 
the  feeling  of  absolute  absorption  into  one  idea.  I  was  ravaged  by 
a  thought.  It  was  as  if  I  had  never  before  imagined,  heard  spoken 
of,  or  seen  a  woman. 

It  was  true.  She  was  a  revelation  to  my  eye  and  my  ear,  as  much 
as  to  my  heart  and  mind.  Indeed,  I  seemed  never  before  to  have 
seen  a  woman.    Whom  had  I  seen  ?    Veronica  ?    We  had  been  too 


126  ROMANCE 

poor,  and  my  mother  too  proud,  to  keep  up  a  social  intercourse  with 
our  neighbors;  the  village  girls  had  been  devoid  of  even  the  most 
rustic  kind  of  charm ;  the  people  were  too  poor  to  be  handsome,  I 
had  never  been  tempted  to  look  at  a  woman's  face ;  and  the  manner 
of  my  going  from  home  is  known.  In  Jamaica,  sharing  with  an 
exaggerated  loyalty  the  unpopularity  of  the  IVIacdonalds,  I  had  led 
a  lonely  life;  for  I  had  no  taste  for  their  friends'  society,  and 
the  others,  after  a  time,  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  me.  I  had 
made  a  sort  of  hermitage  for  myself  out  of  a  house  in  a  distant 
plantation,  and  sometimes  I  should  see  no  white  face  for  whole 
weeks  together.  She  was  the  first  woman  to  me — a  strange  new 
being,  a  marvel  as  great  as  Eve  herself  to  Adam's  wondering 
awakening. 

It  may  be  that  a  close  intimacy  stands  in  the  way  of  love  spring- 
ing up  between  two  young  people,  but  in  our  case  it  was  different. 
My  passion  seemed  to  spring  from  our  understanding,  because 
the  understanding  was  in  the  face  of  danger.  We  were  like  two 
people  in  a  slowly  sinking  ship ;  the  feeling  of  the  abyss  under  our 
feet  was  our  bond,  not  the  real  comprehension  of  each  other. 
Apart  from  that,  she  remained  to  me  always  unattainable  and  ro- 
mantic— unique,  with  all  the  unexpressed  promises  of  love  such  as 
no  world  had  ever  known.  And  naturally,  because  for  me,  hitherto, 
the  world  had  held  no  woman.  She  w^as  an  apparition  of  dreams 
— the  girl  with  the  lizard,  the  girl  with  the  dagger,  a  wonder  to 
stretch  out  my  hands  to  from  afar;  and  yet  I  was  permitted  to 
whisper  intimately  to  this  my  dream,  to  this  vision.  We  had  to 
put  our  heads  close  together,  talking  of  the  enemy  and  of  the 
shadow  over  the  house;  while  under  our  eyes  Carlos  waited  for 
death,  made  cruel  by  his  anxieties,  and  the  old  Don  walked  in  the 
darkness  of  his  accumulated  years. 

As  to  me,  what  was  I  to  her? 

Carlos,  in  a  weak  voice,  and  holding  her  hand  with  a  feeble  and 
tenacious  grasp,  had  told  her  repeatedly  that  the  English  cousin 
was  ready  to  offer  up  his  life  to  her  happiness  in  this  world.  Many 
a  time  she  would  turn  her  glance  upon  me — not  a  grateful  glance, 
but,  as  it  were,  searching  and  pensive — a  glance  of  penetrating 
candor,  a  young  girl's  glance,  that,  by  its  very  trustfulness,  seems 
to  look  one  through  and  through.    And  then  the  sense  of  my  un- 


PART  THIRD  127 

worthiness  made  me  long  for  her  love  as  a  sinner,  in  his  weakness, 
longs  for  the  saving  grace. 

"  Our  English  cousin  is  worthy  of  his  great  nation.  He  is  very 
brave,  and  very  chivalrous  to  a  poor  girl,"  she  would  say  softly. 

One  day,  I  remember,  going  out  of  Carlos'  room,  she  had  just 
paused  on  the  threshold  for  an  almost  imperceptible  moment,  the 
time  to  murmur,  with  feeling,  "  May  Heaven  reward  you,  Don 
Juan."  This  sound,  faint  and  enchanting,  like  a  breath  of  sweet 
wind,  staggered  me.  Castro,  sitting  outside  as  usual,  had  scrambled 
to  his  feet  and  stood  by,  hat  in  hand,  his  head  bent  slightly  with 
saturnine  deference.  She  smiled  at  him.  I  think  she  felt  kindly 
towards  the  tubby  little  bandit  of  a  fellow.  After  all,  there  was 
something  touching  and  pathetic  in  his  mournful  vigil  at  the  door 
of  our  radiant  Carlos.  I  could  have  embraced  that  figure  of  gro- 
tesque and  truculent  devotion.    Had  she  not  smiled  upon  him? 

The  rest  of  that  memorable  day  I  spent  in  a  state  of  delightful 
distraction,  as  if  I  had  been  ravished  into  the  seventh  heaven,  and 
feared  to  be  cast  out  again  presently,  as  my  unworthiness  deserved. 
What  if  it  were  possible,  after  all? — this,  what  Carlos  wished, 
what  he  had  said.  The  heavens  shook;  the  constellations  above  the 
court  of  Casa  Riego  trembled  at  the  thought. 

Carlos  fought  valiantly.  There  were  days  when  his  courage 
seemed  to  drive  the  grim  presence  out  of  the  chamber,  where 
Father  Antonio  with  his  breviary,  and  the  white  coif  of  the  nun, 
seemed  the  only  reminders  of  illness  and  mortality.  Sometimes  his 
voice  was  very  strong,  and  a  sort  of  hopefulness  lighted  his  wasted 
features.  Don  Balthasar  paid  many  visits  to  his  nephew  in  the 
course  of  each  day.  He  sat  apparently  attentive,  and  nodding  at 
the  name  of  O'Brien.  Then  Carlos  would  talk  against  O'Brien 
from  amongst  his  pillows  as  if  inspired,  till  the  old  man,  striking 
the  floor  with  his  gold-headed  cane,  would  exclaim,  in  a  quavering 
voice,  that  he,  alone,  had  made  him,  had  raised  him  up  from  the 
dust,  and  could  abase  him  to  the  dust  again.  He  would  instantly 
go  to  Havana;  orders  would  be  given  to  Cesar  for  the  journey  this 
very  moment.  He  would  then  take  a  pinch  of  snuff  with  shaky 
energy,  and  lean  back  in  the  armchair.  Carlos  would  whisper  to 
me,  "  He  will  never  leave  the  Casa  again,"  and  an  air  of  solemn, 
brooding  helplessness  would  fall  upon  the  funereal  magnificence  of 


128  ROMANCE 

the  room.  Presently  we  should  hear  the  old  Don  muttering  dot- 
ingly  to  himself  the  name  of  Seraphina's  mother,  the  young  wife 
of  his  old  days,  so  saintly,  and  snatched  away  from  him  in  punish- 
ment of  his  early  sinfulness.  It  was  impossible  that  she  should 
have  been  deceived  in  Don  Patricio  (O'Brien's  Christian  name  was 
Patrick).  The  intendente  was  a  man  of  great  intelligence,  and  full 
of  reverence  for  her  memory.  Don  Balthasar  admitted  that  he 
himself  was  growing  old ;  and,  besides,  there  w^as  that  sorrow  of 
his  life.  .  .  .  He  had  been  fortunate  in  his  affliction  to  have  a 
man  of  his  worth  by  his  side.  There  might  have  been  slight  irregu- 
larities, faults  of  youth  (O'Brien  was  five-and-forty  if  a  day). 
The  archbishop  himself  was  edified  by  the  life  of  the  upright  judge 
— all  Havana,  all  the  island.  The  intendente's  great  zeal  for  the 
House  might  have  led  him  into  an  indiscretion  or  two.  So  many 
years  now,  so  many  years.  A  noble  himself.  Had  we  heard  of  an 
Irish  king?  A  king  .  .  .  king  ...  he  could  not  recall  the  name 
at  present.  It  might  be  well  to  hear  what  a  man  of  such  abilities 
had  to  say  for  himself. 

Carlos  and  I  looked  at  each  other  silently. 

"  And  his  life  hangs  on  a  thread,"  whispered  the  dying  man 
with  something  like  despair. 

The  crisis  of  all  these  years  of  plotting  would  come  the  moment 
the  old  Don  closed  his  eyes.  Meantime,  why  was  it  that  O'Brien 
did  not  show  himself  in  Rio  Medio?  What  was  it  that  kept  him 
in  Havana? 

"  Already  I  do  not  count,,  my  Juan,"  Carlos  would  say.  "  And 
he  prepares  all  things  for  the  day  of  my  uncle's  death." 

The  dark  ways  of  that  man  were  inscrutable.  He  must  have 
known,  of  course,  that  I  was  in  Rio  Medio.  His  presence  was  to 
be  feared,  and  his  absence  itself  was  growing  formidable. 

"  But  what  do  you  think  he  will  do?  How  do  you  think  he  will 
act?  "  I  would  ask,  a  little  bewildered  by  my  responsibility. 

Carlos  could  not  tell  precisely.  It  was  not  till  some  time  after 
his  arrival  from  Europe  that  he  became  clearly  aware  of  all  the 
extent  of  that  man's  ambition.  At  the  same  time,  he  had  realized 
all  his  power.  That  man  aimed  at  nothing  less  than  the  whole 
Riego  fortune,  and,  of  course,  through  Seraphina.  I  would  feel 
a  rage  at  this — a  sort  of  rage  that  made  my  head  spin  as  if  the 


PART  THIRD  129 

ground  had  reeled.  "  He  would  have  found  means  of  getting  rid 
of  me  if  he  had  not  seen  I  was  not  long  for  this  world,"  Carlos 
would  say.  He  had  gained  an  unlimited  ascendency  over  his  uncle's 
mind ;  he  had  made  a  solitude  round  this  solemn  dotage  in  which 
ended  so  much  power,  a  great  reputation,  a  stormy  life  of  romance 
and  passion — so  picturesque  and  excessive  even  in  his  old  man's 
love,  whose  after-effect,  as  though  the  work  of  a  Nemesis  resenting 
so  much  brilliance,  was  casting  a  shadow  upon  the  fate  of  his 
daughter. 

Small,  fair,  plump,  concealing  his  Irish  vivacity  of  intelligence 
under  the  taciturn  gravity  of  a  Spanish  lawyer,  and  backed  by  the 
influence  of  two  noble  houses,  O'Brien  had  attained  to  a  remark- 
able reputation  of  sagacity  and  unstained  honesty.  Hand  in 
glove  with  the  clergy,  one  of  the  judges  of  the  Marine  Court,  pro- 
curator to  the  cathedral  chapter,  he  had  known  how  to  make  him- 
self so  necessary  to  the  highest  in  the  land  that  everybody  but  the 
very  highest  looked  upon  him  with  fear.  His  occult  influence  was 
altogether  out  of  proportion  to  his  official  position.  His  plans 
were  carried  out  with  an  unswerving  tenacity  of  purpose.  Carlos 
believed  him  capable  of  anything  but  a  vulgar  peculation.  He  had 
been  reduced  to  observe  his  action  quietly,  hampered  by  the  weak- 
ness of  ill-health.  As  an  instance  of  O'Brien's  methods,  he  related 
to  me  the  manner  in  which,  faithful  to  his  purpose  of  making  a  soli- 
tude about  the  Riegos,  he  had  contrived  to  prevent  overtures  for 
an  alliance  from  the  Salazar  family.  The  young  man  Don  Vin- 
cente  himself  was  impossible,  an  evil  liver,  Carlos  said,  of  dissolute 
habits.  Still,  to  have  even  that  shadow  of  a  rival  out  of  the  w^ay, 
O'Brien  took  advantage  of  a  sanguinary  affray  between  that  man 
and  one  of  his  boon  companions  about  some  famous  guitar-player 
girl.  The  encounter  having  taken  place  under  the  wall  of  a  con- 
vent, O'Brien  had  contrived  to  keep  Don  Vincente  in  prison  ever 
since — not  on  a  charge  of  murder  (which  for  a  young  man  of  that 
quality  would  have  been  a  comparatively  venial  offense),  but  of 
sacrilege.  The  Salazars  were  a  powerful  family,  but  he  was  strong 
enough  to  risk  their  enmity.  "  Imagine  that,  Juan !  "  Carlos  would 
exclaim,  closing  his  eyes.  What  had  caused  him  the  gx"eatest  un- 
easiness was  the  knowledge  that  Don  Balthasar  had  been  induced 
lately  to  write  some  letter  to  the  archbishop  in  Havana.     Carlos 


130  ROMANCE 

was  afraid  it  was  simply  an  expression  of  affection  and  unbounded 
trust  in  his  intendente,  practically  dictated  to  the  old  man  by 
O'Brien.  "  Do  you  not  see,  Juan,  how  such  a  letter  would 
strengthen  his  case,  should  he  ask  the  guardians  for  Seraphina's 
hand?  "  And  perhaps  he  was  appointed  one  of  the  guardians  him- 
self. It  was  impossible  to  know  what  were  the  testamentary  dis- 
positions; Father  Antonio,  who  had  learned  many  things  in  the 
confessional,  could  tell  us  nothing,  but,  when  the  matter  was  men- 
tioned, only  rolled  his  eyes  up  to  heaven  in  an  alarming  manner. 
It  was  startling  to  think  of  all  the  unholy  forces  awakened  by  the 
temptation  of  Seraphina's  helplessness  and  her  immense  fortune. 
Incorruptible  himself,  that  man  knew  how  to  corrupt  others. 
There  might  have  been  combined  in  one  dark  intrigue  the  covetous- 
ness  of  religious  orders,  the  avarice  of  high  officials — God  knows 
what  conspiracy — to  help  O'Brien's  ambition,  his  passions.  He 
could  make  himself  necessary;  he  could  bribe;  he  could  frighten; 
he  was  able  to  make  use  of  the  highest  in  the  land  and  of  the  low- 
est, from  the  present  Captain-General  to  the  Lugarehos.  In  Ha- 
vana he  had  for  him  the  reigning  powders ;  in  Rio  Medio  the  lowest 
outcasts  of  the  island. 

This  last  was  the  most  dangerous  aspect  of  his  power  for  us,  and 
also  his  weakest  point.  This  was  the  touch  of  something  fanciful 
and  imaginative;  a  certain  grim  childishness  in  the  idea  of  making 
war  on  the  British  Empire ;  a  certain  disregard  of  risk ;  a  bizarre 
illusion  of  his  hate  for  the  abhorred  Saxon.  That  he  risked  his 
position  by  his  connection  with  such  a  nest  of  scoundrels,  there 
could  be  no  doubt.  It  was  he  who  had  given  them  such  organiza- 
tion as  they  had,  and  he  stood  between  them  and  the  law.  But 
whatever  might  have  been  suspected  of  him,  he  was  cautious  enough 
not  to  go  too  far.  He  never  appeared  personally;  his  agents  di- 
rected the  action — men  who  came  from  Havana  rather  mysteri- 
ously. They  were  of  all  sorts ;  some  of  them  were  friars.  But  the 
rabble,  who  knew  him  really  only  as  the  intendente  of  the  great 
man,  stood  in  the  greatest  dread  of  him.  Who  was  it  procured  the 
release  of  some  of  them  who  had  got  into  trouble  in  Havana?  The 
intendente.  Who  was  it  who  caused  six  of  their  comrades,  who 
had  been  taken  up  on  a  matter  of  street-brawling  in  the  capital,  to 
be  delivered  to  the  English  as  pirates?    Again,  the  intendente,  the 


PART  THIRD  131 

terrible  man,  the  Juez,  who  apparently  had  the  power  to  pardon 
and  condemn. 

In  this  way  he  was  most  dangerous  to  us  in  Rio  Medio.  He  had 
that  rabble  at  his  beck  and  call.  He  could  produce  a  rising  of 
cut-throats  by  lifting  his  little  finger.  He  was  not  very  likely  to 
do  that,  however.  He  was  intriguing  in  Havana — but  how  could 
we  unmask  him  there?  "  He  has  cut  us  off  from  the  world," 
Carlos  would  say.  "  It  is  so,  my  Juan,  that,  if  I  tried  to  write,  no 
letter  of  mine  would  reach  its  destination;  it  would  fall  into  his 
hands.  And  if  I  did  manage  to  make  my  voice  heard,  he  would 
appeal  to  my  uncle  himself  in  his  defense." 

Besides,  to  whom  could  he  write? — who  would  believe  him? 
O'Brien  would  deny  everything,  and  go  on  his  way.  He  had  been 
accepted  too  long,  had  served  too  many  people  and  known  so  many 
secrets.  It  was  terrible.  And  if  I  went  myself  to  Havana,  no  one 
would  believe  me.  But  I  should  disappear;  they  would  never  see 
me  again.  It  was  impossible  to  unmask  that  man  unless  by  a  long 
and  careful  action.  And  for  this  he — Carlos — had  no  time;  and 
I — I  had  no  standing,  no  relations,  no  skill  even.  .   .  . 

"But  w^hat  is  my  line  of  conduct,  Carlos?"  I  insisted;  while 
Father  Antonio,  from  whom  Carlos  had,  of  course,  no  secrets, 
stood  by  the  bed,  his  round,  jolly  face  almost  comical  in  its  expres- 
sion of  compassionate  concern. 

Carlos  passed  his  thin,  wasted  hand  over  a  white  brow  pearled 
with  the  sweat  of  real  anguish. 

Carlos  thought  that  while  Don  Balthasar  lived,  O'Brien  would 
do  nothing  to  compromise  his  influence  over  him.  Neither  could 
I  take  any  action;  I  must  wait  and  watch.  O'Brien  would,  no 
doubt,  try  to  remove  me ;  but  as  long  as  I  kept  within  the  Casa, 
he  thought  I  should  be  safe.  He  recommended  me  to  try  to  please 
his  cousin,  and  even  found  strength  to  smile  at  my  transports. 
Don  Balthasar  liked  me  for  the  sake  of  his  sister,  who  had  been  so 
happy  in  England.  I  was  his  kinsman  and  his  guest.  From  first 
to  last,  England,  the  idea  of  my  country,  of  my  home,  played  a 
great  part  in  my  life  then ;  it  seemed  to  rest  upon  all  our  thoughts. 
To  me  it  was  but  my  boyhood,  the  farm  at  the  foot  of  the  downs — 
Rooksby's  Manor — all  within  a  small  nook  between  the  quarry  by 
the  side  of  the   Canterbury  road  and  the  shingle   beach,   whose 


132  ROMANCE 

regular  crashing  under  the  feet  of  a  smuggling  band  was  the  last 
shore  sound  of  my  country  I  had  heard.  For  Carlos  it  was  the 
concrete  image  of  stability,  with  the  romantic  feeling  of  its  peace 
and  of  Veronica's  beauty;  the  unchangeable  land  where  he  had 
loved.  To  O'Brien's  hate  it  loomed  up  immense  and  odious,  like 
the  form  of  the  colossal  enemy.  Father  Antonio,  in  the  na'ive 
benevolence  of  his  heart,  prayed  each  night  for  its  conversion,  as 
if  it  were  a  loved  sinner.  He  believed  this  event  to  be  not  very  far 
off  accomplishment,  and  told  me  once,  with  an  amazing  simplicity 
of  certitude,  that  "  there  will  be  a  great  joy  amongst  the  host  of 
heaven  on  that  day."  It  is  marvelous  how  that  distant  land,  from 
which  I  had  escaped  as  if  from  a  prison  to  go  in  search  of  romance, 
appeared  romantic  and  perfect  in  these  days — all  things  to  all  men ! 
With  Seraphina  I  talked  of  it  and  its  denizens  as  of  a  fabulous 
country.  I  wonder  what  idea  she  had  formed  of  my  father,  of  my 
mother,  my  sister — "  Senora  Dona  Veronica  Rooksby,"  she  called 
her — of  the  landscape,  of  the  life,  of  the  sky.  Her  eyes  turned  to 
me  seriously.  Once,  stooping,  she  plucked  an  orange  marigold  for 
her  hair;  and  at  last  we  came  to  talk  of  our  farm  as  of  the  only 
perfect  refuge  for  her. 


CHAPTER  III 

ONE  evening  Carlos,  after  a  silence  of  distress,  had  said, 
"  There's  nothing  else  for  it.  When  the  crisis  comes,  you 
must  carry  her  off  from  this  unhappiness  and  misery  that 
hangs  over  her  head.  You  must  taice  her  out  of  Cuba;  there  is  no 
safety  for  her  here." 

This  took  my  breath  away.  "  But  where  are  we  to  go,  Carlos?  " 
I  asked,  bending  over  him. 

"  To — to  England,"  he  whispered. 

He  was  utterly  worn  out  that  evening  by  all  the  perplexities  of 
his  death-bed.  He  made  a  great  effort,  and  murmured  a  few  words 
more — about  the  Spanish  ambassador  in  London  being  a  near 
relation  of  the  Riegos;  then  he  gave  it  up  and  lay  still  under  my 
amazed  eyes.  The  nun  was  approaching,  alarmed,  from  the  shad- 
ows. Father  Antonio,  gazing  sadly  upon  his  beloved  penitent, 
signed  me  to  withdraw. 

Castro  had  not  gone  away  yet;  he  greeted  me  in  low  tones  out- 
side the  big  door. 

"  Senor,"  he  went  on,  "  I  make  my  report  usually  to  his  Senoria 
Don  Carlos;  only  I  have  not  been  admitted  to-day  into  his  rooms 
at  all.  But  what  I  have  to  say  is  for  your  ear,  also.  There  has 
arrived  a  friar  from  a  Havana  convent  amongst  the  Lugarenos  of 
the  bay.     I  have  known  him  come  like  this  before." 

I  remembered  that  in  the  morning,  while  dressing,  I  had  glanced 
out  of  the  narrow  outside  wnndow  of  my  room,  and  had  seen  a 
brown,  mounted  figure  passing  on  the  sands.  Its  sandaled  feet 
dangled  against  the  tlanks  of  a  powerful  mule. 

Castro  shook  his  head.  "  Malediction  on  his  green  eyes!  He 
baptizes  the  offspring  of  this  vermin  sometimes,  and  sits  for  hours 
in  the  shade  before  the  door  of  Domingo's  posada  telling  his  beads 
as  piously  as  a  devil  that  had  turned  monk  for  the  greater  undoing 
of  us  Christians.  These  women  crowd  there  to  kiss  his  oily  paw. 
What  else  they Basta!     Only  I  wanted  to  tell  you,  senor, 

133 


134  ROMANCE 

that  this  evening  (I  just  come  from  taking  a  pasear  that  way)  there 
is  much  talk  in  the  villages  of  an  evil-intentioned  heretic  that  has 
introduced  himself  into  this  our  town ;  of  an  Inglez  hungry  for 
men  to  hang — of  you,  in  short." 

The  moon,  far  advanced  in  its  first  quarter,  threw  an  ashen, 
bluish  light  upon  one-half  of  the  courtyard;  and  the  straight 
shadow  upon  the  other  seemed  to  lie  at  the  foot  of  the  columns, 
black  as  a  broad  stroke  of  Indian  ink. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  it,  Castro?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  think  that  Domingo  has  his  orders.  Manuel  has  made  a 
song  already.  And  do  you  know  its  burden,  seiior?  Killing  is  its 
burden.  I  would  the  devil  had  all  the  Improvisadores.  They  gape 
round  him  while  he  twangs  and  screeches,  the  wind-bag!  And  he 
knows  what  words  to  sing  to  them,  too.  He  has  talent.  Mala- 
detta!  " 

"  Well,  and  what  do  you  advise?  " 

"  I  advise  the  senor  to  keep,  now,  within  the  Casa.  No  songs 
can  give  that  vermin  the  audacity  to  seek  the  senor  here.  The  gate 
remains  barred ;  the  firearms  are  always  loaded ;  and  Cesar  is  a 
sagacious  African.  But  methinks  this  moon  would  fall  out  of  the 
heaven  first  before  they  would  dare.  .  .  .  Keep  to  the  Casa,  I  say 
— I,  Tomas  Castro." 

He  flung  the  corner  of  his  cloak  over  his  left  shoulder,  and  pre- 
ceded me  to  the  door  of  my  room ;  then,  after  a  "  God  guard  you, 
seiior,"  continued  along  the  colonnade.  Before  I  had  shut  my 
door  it  occurred  to  me  that  he  was  going  on  towards  the  part  of 
the  gallery  on  which  Seraphina's  apartments  opened.  Why? 
What  could  he  want  there? 

I  am  not  so  much  ashamed  of  my  sudden  suspicion  of  him — one 
did  not  know  whom  to  trust — but  I  am  a  little  ashamed  to  con- 
fess that,  kicking  off  my  shoes,  I  crept  out  instantly  to  spy  upon 
him. 

This  part  of  the  house  was  dark  in  the  inky  flood  of  shadow; 
and  before  I  had  come  to  a  recess  in  the  wall,  I  heard  the  discreet 
scratching  of  a  finger-nail  on  a  door.  A  streak  of  light  darted  and 
disappeared,  like  a  signal  for  the  murmurs  of  two  voices. 

I  recognized  the  woman's  at  once.  It  belonged  to  one  of  Sera- 
phina's maids,  a  pretty  little  quadroon — a  favorite  of  hers — called 


PART  THIRD  135 

La  Chica.  She  had  slipped  out,  and  her  twitter-like  whispering 
reached  me  in  the  still  solemnity  of  the  quadrangle.  She  addressed 
Castro  as  "  His  Worship  "  at  every  second  word,  for  the  saturnine 
little  man,  in  his  unbrushed  cloak  and  battered  hat,  was  immensely 
respected  by  the  household.  Had  he  not  been  sent  to  Europe  to 
fetch  Don  Carlos?  He  was  in  the  confidence  of  the  masters — 
their  humble  friend.  The  little  tire-woman  twittered  of  her 
mistress.  The  senorita  had  been  most  anxious  all  day — ever  since 
she  had  heard  the  friar  had  come.    Castro  muttered : 

"  Tell  the  Excellency  that  her  orders  have  been  obeyed.  The 
English  caballero  has  been  warned.  I  have  been  sleepless  in  my 
watchfulness  over  the  guest  of  the  house,  as  the  senorita  has  de- 
sired— for  the  honor  of  the  Riegos.  Let  her  set  her  mind  at 
ease." 

The  girl  then  whispered  to  him  with  great  animation.  Did  not 
his  worship  think  that  it  was  the  senorita's  heart  which  was  not  at 
ease  ? 

Then  the  quadrangle  became  dumb  in  its  immobility,  half  sheen, 
half  night,  with  its  arcades,  the  soothing  plash  of  water,  with  its 
expiring  lights,  in  a  suggestion  of  Castilian  severity,  enveloped  by 
the  exotic  softness  of  the  air. 

"What  folly!"  uttered  Castro's  somber  voice.  "You  women 
do  not  mind  how  many  corpses  come  into  your  imaginings  of  love. 
The  mere  whisper  of  such  a  thing " 

She  murmured  swiftly.     He  interrupted  her. 

"  Thy  eyes,  La  Chica — thy  eyes  see  only  the  silliness  of  thine 
own  heart.  Think  of  thine  own  lovers,  niha.  Por  Dios!  " — he 
changed  to  a  tone  of  severe  appreciation — "  thy  foolish  face  looks 
well  by  moonlight." 

I  believe  he  was  chucking  her  gravely  under  the  chin.  I  heard 
her  soft,  gratified  cooing  in  answer  to  the  compliment;  the  streak 
of  light  flashed  on  the  polished  shaft  of  a  pillar;  and  Castro  went 
on,  going  round  to  the  staircase,  evidently  so  as  not  to  pass  again 
before  my  open  door. 

I  forgot  to  shut  it.  I  did  not  stop  until  I  was  in  the  middle  of 
my  room;  and  then  I  stood  still  for  a  long  time  in  a  self- forgetful 
ecstasy,  while  the  many  wax  candles  of  the  high  candelabrum 
burned  without  a  flicker  in  a  rich  cluster  of  flames,  as  if  lighted 


136  ROMANCE 

to  throw  the  splendor  of  a  celebration  upon  the  pageant  of  my 
thoughts. 

For  the  honor  of  the  Riegos! 

I  came  to  myself.  Well,  it  was  sweet  to  be  the  object  of  her 
anxiety  and  care,  even  on  these  terms — on  any  terms.  And  I  felt 
a  sort  of  profound,  inexpressible,  grateful  emotion,  as  though  no 
one,  never,  on  no  day,  on  no  occasion,  had  taken  thought  of  me 
before. 

I  should  not  be  able  to  sleep,  I  went  to  the  window,  and  leaned 
my  forehead  on  the  iron  bar.  There  was  no  glass;  the  heavy 
shutter  was  thrown  open;  and,  under  the  faint  crescent  of  the 
moon  I  saw  a  small  part  of  the  beach,  very  white,  the  long  streak 
of  light  lying  mistily  on  the  bay,  and  two  black  shapes,  cloaked, 
moving  and  stopping  all  of  a  piece  like  pillars,  their  immensely  long 
shadows  running  away  from  their  feet,  with  the  points  of  the  hats 
touching  the  wall  of  the  Casa  Riego.  Another,  a  shorter,  thicker 
shape,  appeared,  walking  with  dignity.  It  was  Castro.  The  other 
two  had  a  movement  of  recoil,  then  took  off  their  hats. 

"  Buenas  noches,  caballeros/'  his  voice  said,  with  grim  politeness. 
"  You  are  out  late." 

"  So  is  your  worship.  Vaya,  senor,  con  Dios.  We  are  taking 
the  air." 

They  walked  away,  while  Castro  remained  looking  after  them. 
But  I,  from  my  elevation,  noticed  that  they  had  suddenly  crouched 
behind  some  scrubby  bushes  growing  on  the  edge  of  the  sand. 
Then  Castro,  too,  passed  out  of  my  sight  in  the  opposite  direction, 
muttering  angrily. 

I  forgot  them  all.  Everything  on  earth  was  still,  and  I  seemed 
to  be  looking  through  a  casement  out  of  an  enchanted  castle  stand- 
ing in  the  dreamland  of  romance.  I  breathed  out  the  name  of 
Seraphina  into  the  moonlight  in  an  increasing  transport. 

"Seraphina!     Seraphina!     Seraphina!" 

The  repeated  beauty  of  the  sound  intoxicated  me. 

"  Seraphina!  "  I  cried  aloud,  and  stopped,  astounded  at  myself. 
And  the  moonlight  of  romance  seemed  to  whisper  spitefully  from 
below : 

"Death  to  the  traitor!  Vengeance  for  our  brothers  dead  on 
the  English  gallows !  " 


PART  THIRD  137 

"  Come  away,  Manuel." 

"  No.    I  am  an  artist.    It  is  necessary  for  my  soul." 

"Be  quiet!" 

Their  hissing  ascended  along  the  wall  from  under  the  window. 
The  two  Lugarehos  had  stolen  in  unnoticed  by  me.  There  was  a 
stifled  metallic  ringing,  as  of  a  guitar  carried  under  a  cloak. 

"  Vengeance  on  the  heretic  Inglez!  " 

"  Come  away !  They  may  suddenly  open  the  gate  and  fall  upon 
us  with  sticks." 

"  My  gentle  spirit  is  roused  to  the  accomplishment  of  great 
things.  I  feel  in  me  a  valiance,  an  inspiration.  I  am  no  vulgar 
seller  of  aguardiente,  like  Domingo.  I  was  born  to  be  the  capataz 
of  the  Lugarehos^ 

"  We  shall  be  set  upon  and  beaten,  oh,  thou  Manuel.  Come 
away!  " 

There  were  no  footsteps,  only  a  noiseless  flitting  of  two  shadows, 
and  a  distant  voice  crying: 

"  Woe,  woe,  woe  to  the  traitor!  " 

I  had  not  needed  Castro's  warning  to  understand  the  meaning 
of  this.  O'Brien  was  setting  his  power  to  work,  only  this  Manuel's 
restless  vanity  had  taught  me  exactly  how  the  thing  was  to  be  done. 
The  friar  had  been  exciting  the  minds  of  this  rabble  against  me; 
awakening  their  suspicions,  their  hatred,  their  fears. 

I  remained  at  the  casement,  lost  in  rather  somber  reflections. 
I  was  now  a  prisoner  within  the  walls  of  the  Casa.  After  all,  it 
mattered  little.  I  did  not  want  to  go  away  unless  I  could  carry 
off  Seraphina  with  me.  What  a  dream!  What  an  impossible 
dream!  Alone,  without  friends,  with  no  place  to  go  to,  without 
means  of  going;  without,  by  Heaven,  the  right  of  even  as  much 
as  speaking  of  it  to  her.  Carlos — Carlos  dreamed — a  dream  of 
his  dying  hours.  England  was  so  far,  the  enemy  so  near;  and — 
Providence  itself  seemed  to  have  forgotten  me. 

A  sound  of  panting  made  me  turn  my  head.  Father  Antonio 
was  mopping  his  brow  in  the  doorway.  Though  a  heavy  man,  he 
was  noiseless  of  foot.  A  wheezing  would  be  heard  along  the  dark 
galleries  some  time  before  his  black  bulk  approached  you  with  a 
gliding  motion.  He  had  the  outward  placidity  of  corpulent  people, 
a  natural  artlessness  of  demeanor  which  was  amusing  and  attract- 


138  ROMANCE 

ive,  and  there  was  something  shrewd  in  his  simplicity.  Indeed, 
he  must  have  displayed  much  tact  and  shrewdness  to  have  defeated 
all  O'Brien's  efforts  to  oust  him  from  his  position  of  confessor  to 
the  household.  What  had  helped  him  to  hold  his  ground  was 
that,  as  he  said  to  me  once,  "  I,  too,  my  son,  am  a  legacy  of  that 
truly  pious  and  noble  lady,  the  wife  of  Don  Riego.  I  was  made 
her  spiritual  director  soon  after  her  marriage,  and  I  may  say  that 
she  showed  more  discretion  in  the  choice  of  her  confessor  than  in 
that  of  her  man  of  affairs.  But  what  would  you  have?  The  best 
of  us,  except  for  Divine  grace,  is  liable  to  err;  and,  poor  woman, 
let  us  hope  that,  in  her  blessed  state,  she  is  spared  the  knowledge 
of  the  iniquities  going  on  here  below  in  the  Casa." 

He  used  to  talk  to  me  in  that  strain,  coming  in  almost  every 
evening  on  his  way  from  the  sick  room.  He,  too,  had  his  own 
perplexities,  which  made  him  wipe  his  forehead  repeatedly;  after- 
wards he  used  to  spread  his  red  bandanna  handkerchief  over  his 
knees. 

He  sympathized  with  Carlos,  his  beloved  penitent,  with  Sera- 
phina,  his  dear  daughter,  whom  he  had  baptized  and  instructed  in 
the  mysteries  of  "  our  holy  religion,"  and  he  allowed  himself  often 
to  drop  the  remark  that  his  "  illustrious  spiritual  son,"  Don  Bal- 
thasar,  after  a  stormy  life  of  which  men  knew  only  too  much,  had 
attained  to  a  state  of  truly  childlike  and  God-fearing  innocence — 
a  sign,  no  doubt,  of  Heaven's  forgiveness  for  those  excesses.  He 
ended,  always,  by  sighing  heartily,  to  sit  with  his  gaze  on  the 
floor. 

That  night  he  came  in  silently,  and,  after  shutting  the  door  with 
care,  took  his  habitual  seat,  a  broad  wooden  armchair. 

"  How  did  your  reverence  leave  Don  Carlos?  "  I  asked. 

"  Very  low,"  he  said.    "  The  disease  is  making  terrible  ravages, 

and  my  ministrations I  ought  to  be  used  to  the  sight  of 

human  misery,  but "  He  raised  his  hands;  a  genuine  emo- 
tion overpowered  him ;  then,  uncovering  his  face  to  stare  at  me, 
**  He  is  lost,  Don  Juan,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Indeed,  I  fear  we  are  about  to  lose  him,  your  reverence,"  I 
said,  surprised  at  this  display.  It  seemed  inconceivable  that  he 
should  have  been  in  doubt  up  to  this  very  moment. 

He  rolled  his  eyes  painfully.    I  was  forgetting  the  infinite  might 


PART  THIRD  139 

of  God.    Still,  nothing  short  of  a  miracle But  what  had  we 

done  to  deserve  miracles? 

"  Where  is  the  ancient  piety  of  our  forefathers  which  made 
Spain  so  great?  "  he  apostrophized  the  empty  air,  a  little  wildly,  as 
if  in  distraction.  "  No,  Don  Juan;  even  I,  a  true  servant  of  our 
faith,  am  conscious  of  not  having  had  enough  grace  for  my  humble 
ministrations  to  poor  sailors  and  soldiers — men  naturally  inclined 
to  sin,  but  simple.  And  now — there  are  two  great  nobles,  the 
fortune  of  a  great  house.   .   .   ." 

I  looked  at  him  and  wondered,  for  he  was,  in  a  manner,  wring- 
ing his  hands,  as  if  in  immense  distress. 

"  We  are  all  thinking  of  that  poor  child — mas  que,  Don  Juan, 
imagine  all  that  wealth  devoted  to  the  iniquitous  purposes  of  that 
man.    Her  happiness  sacrificed," 

"  I  cannot  imagine  this — I  will  not,"  I  interrupted,  so  violently 
that  he  hushed  me  with  both  hands  uplifted. 

"  To  these  wild  enterprises  against  your  own  country,"  he  went 
on  vehemently,  disregarding  my  exasperated  and  contemptuous 
laugh.  "And  she  herself,  the  niha.  I  have  baptized  her;  I  have 
instructed  her;  and  a  more  noble  disposition,  more  naturally  in- 
clined to  the  virtues  and  proprieties  of  her  sex But,  Don 

Juan,  she  has  pride,  which  doubtless  is  a  gift  of  God,  too,  but  it 
is  made  a  snare  of  by  Satan,  the  roaring  lion,  the  thief  of  souls. 
And  what  if  her  feminine  rashness — women  are  rash,  my  son,"  he 
interjected  with  unction — "  and  her  pride  were  to  lead  her  into 
— I  am  horrified  at  the  thought — into  an  act  of  mortal  sin  for 
which  there  is  no  repentance?" 

"  Enough!  "  I  shouted  at  him. 

"  No  repentance,"  he  repeated,  rising  to  his  feet  excitedly,  and 
I  stood  before  him,  my  arms  down  my  sides,  with  my  fists  clenched. 

Why  did  the  stupid  priest  come  to  talk  like  this  to  me,  as  if  I 
had  not  enough  of  my  own  unbearable  thoughts? 

He  sat  down  and  began  to  flourish  his  handkerchief.  There  was 
depicted  on  his  broad  face — depicted  simply  and  even  touchingly 
— the  inward  conflict  of  his  benevolence  and  of  his  doubts. 

"  I  observe  your  emotion,  my  son,"  he  said.  I  must  have  been 
as  pale  as  death.  And,  after  a  pause,  he  meditated  aloud,  "  And, 
after  all,  you  English  are  a  reverent  nation.     You,  a  scion  of  the 


140  ROMANCE 

nobility,  have  been  brought  up  in  deplorable  rebellion  against  the 
authority  of  God  on  this  earth;  but  you  are  not  a  scoffer — not  a 

scoffer.     I,  a  humble  priest But,  after  all,  the  Holy  Father 

himself,  in  his  inspired  wisdom 1  have  prayed  to  be  enlight- 
ened.  .   .   ." 

He  spread  the  square  of  his  damp  handkerchief  on  his  knees,  and 
bowed  his  head.  I  had  regained  command  over  myself,  but  I 
did  not  understand  in  the  least.  I  had  passed  from  my  exasperation 
into  a  careworn  fatigue  of  mind  that  was  like  utter  darkness. 

"  After  all,"  he  said,  looking  up  naively,  "  the  business  of  us 
priests  is  to  save  souls.  It  is  a  solemn  time  when  death  approaches. 
The  affairs  of  this  world  should  be  cast  aside.  And  yet  God 
surely  does  not  mean  us  to  abandon  the  living  to  the  mercy  of  the 
wicked." 

A  sadness  came  upon  his  face,  his  eyes;  all  the  world  seemed 
asleep.  He  made  an  effort.  "  My  son,"  he  said  with  decision, 
"  I  call  you  to  follow  me  to  the  bedside  of  Don  Carlos  at  this 
very  hour  of  night.  I,  a  humble  priest,  the  unworthy  instrument 
of  God's  grace,  call  upon  you  to  bring  him  a  peace  which  my  minis- 
trations cannot  give.    His  time  is  near." 

I  rose  up,  startled  by  his  solemnity,  by  the  hint  of  hidden  signifi- 
cance in  these  words. 

"  Is  he  dying  now?  "  I  cried. 

"  He  ought  to  detach  his  thoughts  from  this  earth ;  and  if  there 
is  no  other  way " 

"  What  way?    What  am  I  expected  to  do?  " 

"  My  son,  I  had  observed  your  emotion.  We,  the  appointed 
confidants  of  men's  frailties,  are  quick  to  discern  the  signs  of  their 
innermost  feelings.  Let  me  tell  you  that  my  cherished  daughter 
in  God,  Sefiorita  Dona  Seraphina  Riego,  is  with  Don  Carlos,  the 
virtual  head  of  the  family,  since  his  Excellency  Don  Balthasar  is  in 
a  state  of,  I  may  say,  infantile  innocence." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  father?  "  I  faltered. 

"  She  is  waiting  for  you  with  him,"  he  pronounced,  looking  up. 
And  as  his  solemnity  seemed  to  have  deprived  me  of  my  power  to 
move,  he  added,  with  his  ordinary  simplicity,  "  Why,  my  son,  she 
is,  I  may  say,  not  wholly  indifferent  to  your  person." 

I  could  not  have  dropped  more  suddenly  Into  the  chair  had  the 


PART  THIRD  141 

good  padre  discharged  a  pistol  into  my  breast.  He  went  away; 
and  when  I  leapt  up,  I  saw  a  young  man  in  black  velvet  and  white 
ruffles  staring  at  me  out  of  the  large  mirror  set  frameless  into  the 
wall,  like  the  apparition  of  a  Spanish  ghost  with  my  own  English 
face. 

When  I  ran  out,  the  moon  had  sunk  below  the  ridge  of  the  roof; 
the  whole  quadrangle  of  the  Casa  had  turned  black  under  the 
stars,  with  only  a  yellow  glimmer  of  light  falling  into  the  well  of 
the  court  from  the  lamp  under  the  vaulted  gateway.  The  form 
of  the  priest  had  gone  out  of  sight,  and  a  far-away  knocking, 
mingling  with  my  footfalls,  seemed  to  be  part  of  the  tumult  within 
my  heart.  Below,  a  voice  at  the  gate  challenged,  "  Who  goes 
there?"  I  ran  on.  Two  tiny  flames  burned  before  Carlos'  door 
at  the  end  of  the  long  vista,  and  two  of  Seraphina's  maids  shrank 
away  from  the  great  mahogany  panels  at  my  approach.  The 
candlesticks  trembled  askew  in  their  hands;  the  wax  guttered 
down,  and  the  taller  of  the  two  girls,  with  an  uncovered  long 
neck,  gazed  at  me  out  of  big  sleepy  eyes  in  a  sort  of  dumb  wonder. 
The  teeth  of  the  plump  little  one — La  Chica — rattled  violently 
like  castanets.  She  moved  aside  with  a  hysterical  little  laugh, 
and  glanced  upwards  at  me. 

I  stopped,  as  if  I  had  intruded ;  of  all  the  persons  in  the  sick- 
room, not  one  turned  a  head.  The  stillness  of  the  lights,  of  things, 
of  the  air,  seemed  to  have  passed  into  Seraphina's  face.  She  stood 
with  a  stiff  carriage  under  the  heavy  hangings  of  the  bed,  looking 
very  Spanish  and  romantic  in  her  short  black  skirt,  a  black  lace 
shawl  enveloping  her  head,  her  shoulders,  her  arms,  as  low  as  the 
waist.  Her  bare  feet,  thrust  into  high-heeled  slippers,  lent  to 
her  presence  an  air  of  flight,  as  if  she  had  run  into  that  room  in 
distress  or  fear.  Carlos,  sitting  up  amongst  the  snowy  pillows  of 
eider-down  at  his  back,  was  not  speaking  to  her.  He  had  done ;  and 
the  flush  on  his  cheek,  the  eager  luster  of  his  eyes,  gave  him  an 
appearance  of  animation,  almost  of  joy,  a  sort  of  consuming,  flame- 
like brilliance.  They  were  waiting  for  me.  With  all  his  eagerness 
and  air  of  life,  all  he  could  do  was  to  lift  his  white  hand  an  inch 
or  two  off  the  silk  coverlet  that  spread  over  his  limbs  smoothly, 
like  a  vast  crimson  pall.  There  was  something  joyous  and  cruel 
in  the  shimmer  of  this  piece  of  color,  contrasted  with  the  dead 


142  ROMANCE 

white  of  the  linen,  the  duskiness  of  the  wasted  face,  the  dark  head 
with  no  visible  body,  symbolically  motionless.  The  confused  shad- 
ows and  the  tarnished  splendor  of  emblazoned  draperies,  looped 
up  high  under  the  ceiling,  fell  in  heavy  and  unstirring  folds  right 
down  to  the  polished  floor,  that  reflected  the  lights  like  a  sheet  of 
water,  or  rather  like  ice. 

I  felt  it  slippery  under  my  feet.  I,  alone,  had  to  move,  in  this 
great  chamber,  with  its  festive  patches  of  color  amongst  the 
funereal  shadows,  with  the  expectant,  still  figures  of  priest  and 
nun,  servants  of  passionless  eternity,  as  if  immobilized  and  made 
mute  by  hostile  wonder  before  the  perishable  triumph  of  life  and 
love.  And  only  the  impatient  tapping  of  the  sick  man's  hand 
on  the  stiff  silk  of  the  coverlet  was  heard. 

It  called  to  me.  Seraphina's  unstirring  head  was  lighted  strongly 
by  a  two-branched  sconce  on  the  wall ;  and  when  I  stood  by  her 
side,  not  even  the  shadow  of  the  eyelashes  on  her  cheek  trembled. 
Carlos'  lips  moved;  his  voice  was  almost  extinct;  but  for  all  his 
emaciation,  the  profundity  of  his  eyes,  the  sunken  cheeks,  the 
hollow  temples,  he  remained  attractive,  with  the  charm  of  his 
gallant  and  romantic  temper  worn  away  to  an  almost  unearthly 
fineness. 

He  was  going  to  have  his  desire  because,  on  the  threshold  of  his 
spiritual  inheritance,  he  refused,  or  was  unable,  to  turn  his  gaze 
away  from  this  world.  Father  Antonio's  business  was  to  save  this 
soul ;  and  with  a  sort  of  simple  and  sacerdotal  shrewdness,  in  which 
there  was  much  love  for  his  most  noble  penitent,  he  would  try  to 
appease  its  trouble  by  a  romantic  satisfaction.  His  voice,  very 
grave  and  profound,  addressed  me: 

"  Approach,  my  son — nearer.  We  trust  the  natural  feelings  of 
pity  which  are  implanted  in  every  human  breast,  the  nobility  of 
your  extraction,  the  honor  of  your  hidalguidad,  and  that  inextin- 
guishable courage  which,  as  by  the  unwearied  mercy  of  God,  dis- 
tinguishes the  sons  of  your  fortunate  and  unhappy  nation."  His 
bass  voice,  deepened  in  solemn  utterance,  vibrated  huskily.  There 
was  a  rustic  dignity  in  his  uncouth  form,  in  his  broad  face,  in  the 
gesture  of  the  raised  hand.  "  You  shall  promise  to  respect  the 
dictates  of  our  conscience,  guided  by  the  authority  of  our  faith ;  to 
defer  to  our  scruples,  and  to  the  procedure  of  our  Church  in  matters 


PART  THIRD  143 

which  we  believe  touch  the  welfare  of  our  souls.  .  .  .  You 
promise?  " 

He  waited.  Carlos'  eyes  burned  darkly  on  my  face.  What 
were  they  asking  of  me?  This  was  nothing.  Of  course  I  would 
respect  her  scruples — her  scruples — if  my  heart  should  break.  I 
felt  her  living  intensely  by  my  side;  she  could  be  brought  no 
nearer  to  me  by  anything  they  could  do,  or  I  could  promise.  She 
had  already  all  the  devotion  of  my  love  and  youth,  the  unreasoning 
and  potent  devotion,  without  a  thought  or  hope  of  reward.  I 
was  almost  ashamed  to  pronounce  the  two  words  they  expected. 

"  I  promise." 

And  suddenly  the  meaning  pervading  this  scene,  something  that 
was  in  my  mind  already,  and  that  I  had  hardly  dared  to  look  at 
till  now,  became  clear  to  me  in  its  awful  futility  against  the  dan- 
gers, in  all  its  remote  consequences.  It  was  a  betrothal.  The 
priest — Carlos,  too — must  have  known  that  it  had  no  binding 
power.  To  Carlos  it  was  symbolic  of  his  wishes.  Father  Antonio 
was  thinking  of  the  papal  dispensation.  I  was  a  heretic.  What  if 
ft  were  refused?  But  what  was  that  risk  to  me,  who  had  never 
dared  to  hope?  Moreover,  they  had  brought  her  there,  had  per- 
suaded her ;  she  had  been  influenced  by  her  fears,  impressed  by 
Carlos.    What  could  she  care  for  me  ?    And  I  repeated : 

"  I  promise.  I  promise,  even  at  the  cost  of  suffering  and  un- 
happiness,  never  to  demand  anything  from  her  against  her  con- 
science." 

Carlos'  voice  sounded  weak.  "  I  answer  for  him,  good  father." 
Then  he  seemed  to  wander  in  a  whisper,  which  we  two  caught 
faintly,  "  He  resembles  his  sister.    O  Divine " 

And  on  this  ghostly  sigh,  on  this  breath,  with  the  feeble  click 
of  beads  in  the  nun's  hands,  a  silence  fell  upon  the  room,  vast  as 
the  stillness  of  a  world  of  unknown  faiths,  loves,  beliefs,  of  silent 
illusions,  of  unexpressed  passions  and  secret  motives  that  live  in  our 
unfathomable  hearts, 

Seraphina  had  given  me  a  quick  glance — the  first  glance — which 
I  had  rather  felt  than  seen.  Carlos  made  an  effort,  and,  raising 
himself,  put  her  hand  in  mine. 

Father  Antonio,  trying  to  pronounce  a  short  allocution,  broke 
down,  naive  in  his  emotion,  as  he  had  been  in  his  dignity.     I  could 


144  ROMANCE 

at  first  catch  only  the  words,  "  Beloved  child — Holy  Father — 
poor  priest.  .  .  ."  He  had  taken  this  upon  himself  ;*and  he  would 
attest  the  purity  of  our  intentions,  the  necessity  of  the  case,  the 
assent  of  the  head  of  the  family,  my  excellent  disposition.  All  the 
Englishmen  had  excellent  dispositions.  He  would,  personally,  go 
to  the  foot  of  the.  Holy  See — on  his  knees,  if  necessary.  Mean- 
time, a  document — ^he  should  at  once  prepare  a  justificative  docu- 
ment. The  archbishop,  it  is  true,  did  not  like  him  on  account  of 
the  calumnies  of  that  man  O'Brien.  But  there  was,  beyond  the 
seas,  the  supreme  authority  of  the  Church,  unerring  and  inaccessible 
to  calumnies. 

All  that  time  Seraphina's  hand  was  lying  passive  in  my  palm — 
warm,  soft,  living;  all  the  life,  all  the  world,  all  the  happiness, 
the  only  desire — and  I  dared  not  close  my  grasp,  afraid  of  the 
vanity  of  my  hopes,  shrinking  from  the  intense  felicity  in  the 
audacious  act.  Father  Antonio — I  must  say  the  word — blubbered. 
He  was  now  only  a  tender-hearted,  simple  old  man,  nothing  more, 

"  Before  God  now,  Don  Juan.  ...  I  am  only  a  poor  priest, 
but  invested  with  a  sacred  office,  an  enormous  power.  Tremble, 
sefior,  it  is  a  young  girl.  ...  I  have  loved  her  like  my  own ;  for, 
indeed,  I  have  in  baptism  given  her  the  spiritual  life.  You  owe 
her  protection ;  it  is  for  that,  before  God,  sefior " 

It  was  as  if  Carlos  had  swooned ;  his  eyes  were  closed,  his  face 
like  a  carving.  But  gradually  the  suggestion  of  a  tender  and 
ironic  smile  appeared  on  his  lips.  With  a  slow  effort  he  raised  his 
arm  and  his  eyelids,  in  an  appeal  of  all  his  weariness  for  my  ear. 
I  made  a  movement  to  stoop  over  him,  and  the  floor,  the  great  bed, 
the  whole  room,  seemed  to  heave  and  sway.  I  felt  a  slight,  a 
fleeting  pressure  of  Seraphina's  hand  before  it  slipped  out  of  mine ; 
I  thought,  in  the  beating  rush  of  blood  to  my  temples,  that  I  was 
going  mad. 

He  had  thrown  his  arm  over  my  neck;  there  was  the  calming 
austerity  of  death  on  his  lips,  that  just  touched  my  ear  and  de- 
parted, together  with  the  far-away  sound  of  the  words,  losing 
themselves  in  the  remoteness  of  another  world : 

"  Like  an  Englishman,  Juan," 

"  On  my  honor,  Carlos," 

His  arm,  releasing  my  neck,  fell  stretched  out  on  the  coverlet. 


PART  THIRD  145 

Father  Antonio  had  mastered  his  emotion;  with  the  trail  of  un- 
dried  tears  on  his  face,  he  had  become  a  priest  again,  exalted  above 
the  reach  of  his  earthly  sorrow  by  the  august  concern  of  his  sacer- 
doce. 

"  Don  Carlos,  my  son,  is  your  mind  at  ease,  now?  " 

Carlos  closed  his  eyes  slowly. 

"  Then  turn  all  your  thoughts  to  heaven."  Father  Antonio's 
bass  voice  rose,  aloud,  with  an  extraordinary  authority.  "  You 
have  done  with  the  earth." 

The  arm  of  the  nun  touched  the  cords  of  the  curtains,  and  the 
massive  folds  shook  and  fell  expanded,  hiding  from  us  the  priest 
and  the  penitent. 


CHAPTER  IV 

SERAPHINA  and  I  moved  towards  the  door  sadly,  as  if 
under  the  oppression  of  a  memory,  as  people  go  back  from 
the  side  of  a  grave  to  the  cares  of  life.  No  exultation  pos- 
sessed me.  Nothing  had  happened.  It  had  been  a  sick  man's 
whim. 

"  Senorita,"  I  said  low,  with  my  hand  on  the  wrought  bronze 
of  the  door-handle,  "  Don  Carlos  might  have  died  in  full  trust  of 
my  devotion  to  you — without  this." 

"  I  know  it,"  she  answered,  hanging  her  head. 

"  It  was  his  wish,"  I  said.     "  And  I  deferred." 

"  It  was  his  wish,"  she  repeated. 

"  Remember  he  had  asked  you  for  no  promise." 

"  Yes,  it  is  you  only  he  has  asked.  You  have  remembered  it  very 
well,  seiior.     And  you — you  ask  for  nothing." 

"No,"  I  said;  "neither  from  your  heart  nor  fr6m  your  con- 
science— nor  from  your  gratitude.  Gratitude  from  you!  As  if  it 
were  not  I  that  owe  you  gratitude  for  having  condescended  to 
stand  with  your  hand  in  mine — if  only  for  a  moment — if  only  to 
bring  peace  to  a  dying  man ;  for  giving  me  the  felicity,  the  illusion 
of  this  wonderful  instant,  that,  all  my  life,  I  shall  remember  as 
those  who  are  suddenly  strickep  blind  remember  the  great  glory 
of  the  sun.  I  shall  live  with  it,  I  shall  cherish  it  in  my  heart  to 
my  dying  day;  and  I  promise  never  to  mention  it  to  you  again." 

Her  lips  were  slightly  parted,  her  eyes  remained  downcast,  her 
head  drooped  as  if  in  extreme  attention. 

"  I  asked  for  no  promise,"  she  murmured  coldly. 

My  heart  was  heavy.  "  Thank  you  for  that  proof  of  your 
confidence,"  I  said.  "  I  am  yours  without  any  promises.  Wholly 
yours.  But  what  can  I  offer  ?  What  help  ?  What  refuge  ?  What 
protection?  What  can  I  do?  I  can  only  die  for  you.  Ah,  but 
this  was  cruel  of  Carlos,  when  he  knew  that  I  had  nothing  else 
but  my  poor  life  to  give." 

146 


PART  THIRD  147 

"  I  accept  that,"  she  said  unexpectedly. 

"  Senorita,  it  is  generous  of  you  to  accept  so  worthless  a  gift — 
a  life  I  value  not  at  all  save  for  one  unique  memory  which  I  owe 
to  you." 

I  knew  she  was  looking  at  me  while  I  swung  open  the  door  with 
a  low  bow.  I  did  not  trust  myself  to  look  at  her.  An  unreason- 
able disenchantment,  like  the  awakening  from  a  happy  dream,  op- 
pressed me.  I  felt  an  almost  angry  desire  to  seize  her  in  my  arms 
— to  go  back  to  my  dream.  If  I  had  looked  at  her  then,  I  believed 
I  could  not  have  controlled  myself. 

She  passed  out;  and  when  I  looked  up  there  was  O'Brien  booted 
and  spurred,  but  otherwise  in  his  lawyer's  black,  inclining  his 
dapper  figure  profoundly  before  her  in  the  dim  gallery.  She  had 
stopped  short.  The  tw-o  maids,  huddled  together  behind  her,  stared 
with  terrified  eyes.  The  flames  of  their  candies  vacillated  very 
much. 

I  closed  the  door  quietly.  Carlos  was  done  with  the  earth. 
This  had  become  my  affair;  and  the  necessity  of  coming  to  an 
immediate  decision  almost  deprived  me  of  my  power  of  thinking. 
The  necessity  had  arisen  too  swiftly;  the  arrival  of  that  man  acted 
like  the  sudden  apparition  of  a  phantom.  It  had  been  expected, 
however ;  only,  from  the  moment  we  had  turned  away  from  Carlos' 
bedside,  we  had  thought  of  nothing  but  ourselves;  we  had  dwelt 
alone  in  our  emotions,  as  if  there  had  been  no  inhabitant  of  flesh 
and  blood  on  the  earth  but  we  two.  Our  danger  had  been  present, 
no  doubt,  in  our  minds,  because  we  drew  it  in  with  every  breath. 
It  was  the  indispensable  condition  of  our  contact,  of  our  words,  of 
our  thoughts ;  it  was  the  atmosphere  of  our  feelings ;  a  something 
as  all-pervading  and  impalpable  as  the  air  we  drew  into  our  lungs. 
And  suddenly  this  danger,  this  breath  of  our  life,  had  taken  this 
material  form.  It  was  material  and  expected,  and  yet  it  had  the 
effect  of  an  evil  specter,  inasmuch  as  one  did  not  know  where 
and  how  it  was  vulnerable,  what  precisely  it  would  do,  how  one 
should  defend  one's  self. 

His  bow  was  courtly;  his  gravity  was  all  in  his  bearing,  which 
was  quiet  and  confident:  the  manner  of  a  capable  man,  the  sort  of 
man  the  great  of  this  earth  find  invaluable  and  are  inclined  to 
trust.     His  full-shaven  face  had  a  good-natured,  almost  a  good- 


148  ROMANCE 

humored  expression,  which  I  have  come  to  think  must  have  de- 
pended on  the  cast  of  his  features,  on  the  setting  of  his  eyes — 
on  some  peculiarity  not  under  his  control,  or  else  he  could  not 
have  preserved  it  so  w^ell.  In  certain  occasions,  as  this  one,  for 
instance,  it  affected  me  as  a  refinement  of  cynicism;  and,  gener- 
ally, it  WSLS  startling,  like  the  assumption  of  a  mask  inappropriate 
to  the  action  and  the  speeches  of  the  part. 

He  had  journeyed  in  his  customary  manner  overland  from  Ha- 
vana, arriving  unexpectedly  at  night,  as  he  had  often  done  before ; 
only  this  time  he  had  found  the  little  door,  cut  out  in  one  of  the 
sides  of  the  big  gate,  bolted  fast.  It  w^as  his  knocking  I  had  heard, 
as  I  hurried  after  the  priest.  The  major-domo,  w^ho  had  been 
called  up  to  let  him  in,  told  me  afterwards  that  the  senor  in- 
tendente  had  put  no  question  whatever  to  him  as  to  this,  and  had 
gone  on,  as  usual,  towards  his  own  room.  Nobody  knew  what 
was  going  on  in  Carlos'  chamber,  but,  of  course,  he  came  upon  the 
two  girls  at  the  door.  He  said  nothing  to  them  either,  only  just 
stopped  there  and  waited,  leaning  with  one  elbow  on  the  balustrade 
with  his  good-tempered,  gray  eyes  fixed  on  the  door.  He  had  fully 
expected  to  see  Seraphina  come  out  presently,  but  I  think  he  did 
not  count  on  seeing  me  as  well.  When  he  straightened  himself 
up  after  the  bow,  we  two  were  standing  side  by  side. 

I  had  stepped  quickly  towards  her,  asking  myself  what  he  would 
do.  He  did  not  seem  to  be  armed ;  neither  had  I  any  weapon  about 
me.  Would  he  fly  at  my  throat?  I  was  the  bigger,  and  the 
younger  man.  I  wished  he  would.  But  he  found  a  w^ay  of  making 
me  feel  all  his  other  advantages.  He  did  not  recognize  my  exist- 
ence. He  appeared  not  to  see  me  at  all.  He  seemed  not  to  be 
aware  of  Seraphina's  startled  immobility,  of  my  firm  attitude ;  but 
turning  his  good-humored  face  towards  the  two  girls,  who  appeared 
ready  to  sink  through  the  floor  before  his  gaze,  he  shook  his  fore- 
finger at  them  slightly. 

This  was  all.  He  was  not  menacing;  he  was  almost  playful; 
and  this  gesture,  marvelous  in  its  economy  of  effort,  disclosed  all 
the  might  and  insolence  of  his  power.  It  had  the  unerring  efficacy 
of  an  act  of  instinct.  It  was  instinct.  He  could  not  know  how- 
he  dismayed  us  by  that  shake  of  the  finger.  The  tall  girl  dropped 
her  candlestick  with  a  clatter,  and  fled  along  the  gallery  like  a 


PART  THIRD  149 

shadow.  La  Chica  cowered  under  the  wall.  The  light  of  her 
candle  just  touched  dimly  the  form  of  a  negro  boy,  waiting  pas- 
sively in  the  background  with  O'Brien's  saddle-bags  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  You  see,"  said  Seraphina  to  me,  in  a  swift,  desolate  murmur. 
"  They  are  all  like  this — all,  all." 

Without  a  change  of  countenance,  without  emphasis,  he  said  to 
her  in  French: 

"  Voire  pere  sans  doute,  senorita." 

And  she  intrepidly,  "  You  know  very  well.  Senor  Intendente, 
that  nothing  can  make  him  open  his  eyes." 

"  So  it  seems,"  he  muttered  between  his  teeth,  stooping  to  pick 
up  the  dropped  candlestick.  It  was  lying  at  my  feet.  I  could  have 
taken  him  at  a  disadvantage,  then;  I  could  have  felled  him  with 
one  blow,  thrown  myself  upon  his  back.  Thus  may  an  athletic 
prisoner  set  upon  a  jailer  coming  into  his  cell,  if  there  were  not 
the  prison,  the  locks,  the  bars,  the  heavy  gates  and  the  walls,  all 
the  apparatus  of  captivity,  and  the  superior  weight  of  the  idea 
chaining  down  the  will,  if  not  the  courage. 

It  might  have  been  his  knowledge  of  this,  or  his  absolute  disdain 
of  me.  The  unconcerned  manner  he  busied  himself — his  head 
within  striking  distance  of  my  fist — in  lighting  the  extinguished 
candle  from  the  trembling  Chica's  humiliated  me  beyond  expres- 
sion. He  had  some  difficulty  with  that,  till  he  said  to  her  just 
audibly,  "  Calm  thyself,  niria,"  and  she  became  rigid  in  her  ap- 
pearance of  excessive  terror. 

He  turned,  then,  towards  Seraphina,  candlestick  in  hand,  cour- 
teously saying  in  Spanish: 

"  May  I  be  allowed  to  help  light  j^ou  to  your  door,  since  that 
silly  Juanita — I  think  it  was  Juanita — has  taken  leave  of  her 
senses?  She  is  not  fit  to  remain  in  your  service — any  more  than 
this  one  here." 

With  a  gasp  of  desolation,  La  Chica  began  to  sob  limply  against 
the  wall.  I  made  one  step  forward ;  and,  holding  the  candle  well 
up,  as  though  for  the  purpose  of  examining  my  face  carefully,  he 
never  looked  my  way,  while  he  and  Seraphina  were  exchanging  a 
few  phrases  in  French  which  I  did  not  understand  well  enough  to 
follow. 


ISO  ROMANCE 

He  was  politely  interrogatory,  it  seemed  to  me.  The  natural, 
good-humored  expression  never  left  his  face,  as  though  he  had  a 
fund  of  inexhaustible  patience  for  dealing  with  the  unaccountable 
trifles  of  a  woman's  conduct.  Seraphina's  shawl  had  slipped  off 
her  head.  The  Chica  sidled  towards  her,  sobbing  a  deep  sob  now 
and  then,  without  any  sign  of  tears ;  and  with  their  scattered  hair, 
their  bare  arms,  the  disorder  of  their  attire,  they  looked  like  two 
women  discovered  in  a  secret  flight  for  life.  Only  the  mistress 
stood  her  ground  firmly ;  her  voice  was  decided ;  there  was  resolu- 
tion in  the  way  one  little  white  hand  clutched  the  black  lace  on  her 
bosom.  Only  once  she  seemed  to  hesitate  in  her  replies.  Then, 
after  a  pause  he  gave  her  for  reflection,  he  appeared  to  repeat  his 
question.  She  glanced  at  me  apprehensively,  as  I  thought,  before 
she  confirmed  the  previous  answer  by  a  slow  inclination  of  her 
head. 

Had  he  allowed  himself  to  make  a  provoking  movement,  a 
dubious  gesture  of  any  sort,  I  would  have  flung  myself  upon  him 
at  once;  but  the  nonchalant  manner  in  which  he  looked  away, 
while  he  extended  to  me  his  hand  with  the  candlestick,  amazed 
me.  I  simply  took  it  from  him.  He  stepped  back,  with  a  cere- 
monious bow  for  Seraphina.  La  Chica  ran  up  close  to  her  elbow. 
I  heard  her  voice  saying  sadly,  "  You  need  fear  nothing  for  your- 
self, child  " ;  and  they  moved  away  slowly.  I  remained  facing 
O'Brien,  with  a  vague  notion  of  protecting  their  retreat. 

This  time  it  was  I  who  was  holding  the  light  before  his  face. 
It  was  calm  and  colorless;  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  ground  re- 
flectively, with  the  appearance  of  profound  and  quiet  absorption. 
But  suddenly  I  perceived  the  convulsive  clutch  of  his  hand  on  the 
skirt  of  his  coat.  It  was  as  if  accidentally  I  had  looked  inside  the 
man — upon  the  strength  of  his  illusions,  on  his  desire,  on  his 
passion.  Now  he  will  fly  at  me,  I  thought,  with  a  tremendously 
convincing  certitude.  Now All  my  muscles,  stiffening,  an- 
swered the  appeal  of  that  thought  of  battle. 

He  said,  "  Won't  you  give  me  that  light?  " 

And  I  understood  he  demanded  a  surrender. 

"  I  would  see  you  die  first  where  you  stand,"  was  my  an- 
swer. 

This  object  in  my  hand  had  become  endowed  with  moral  mean- 


PART  THIRD  151 

ing — significant,  like  a  symbol — only  to  be  torn  from  me  with 
my  life. 

He  lifted  his  head ;  the  light  twinkled  in  his  eyes.  "  Oh,  /  won't 
die,"  he  said,  with  that  bizarre  suggestion  of  humor  in  his  face, 
in  his  subdued  voice.  "  But  it  is  a  small  thing;  and  you  are  young; 
it  may  be  yet  worth  your  while  to  try  and  please  me — this  time." 

Before  I  could  answer,  Seraphina,  from  some  little  distance, 
called  out  hurriedly: 

"  Don  Juan,  your  arm." 

Her  voice,  sounding  a  little  unsteady,  made  me  forget  O'Brien, 
and,  turning  my  back  on  him,  I  ran  up  to  her.  She  needed  my 
support ;  and  before  us  La  Chica  tottered  and  stumbled  along  with 
the  lights,  moaning: 

"  Madre  de  Diosf  What  will  become  of  us  now!  Oh,  what 
will  become  of  us  now!  " 

"  You  know  what  he  had  asked  me  to  let  him  do,"  Seraphina 
talked  rapidly.  "I  made  answer,  'No;  give  the  light  to  my 
cousin.'  Then  he  said,  '  Do  you  really  wish  it,  sefiorita?  I  am 
the  older  friend.'  I  repeated,  '  Give  the  light  to  my  cousin,  seiior.' 
He,  then,  cruelly,  '  For  the  young  man's  own  sake,  reflect,  sefiorita.' 
And  he  waited  before  he  asked  me  again,  '  Shall  I  surrender  it  to 
him  ?  '  I  felt  death  upon  my  heart,  and  all  my  fear  for  you — 
there."  She  touched  her  beautiful  throat  with  a  sw-ift  movement 
of  a  hand  that  disappeared  at  once  under  the  lace.  "  And  be- 
cause I  could  not  speak,  I Don  Juan,  you  have  just  offered 

me  your  life — I Misericordia!    What  else  was  possible?     I 

made  with  my  head  the  sign  '  Yes.'  " 

In  the  stress,  hurry,  and  rapture  encompassing  my  immense  grati- 
tude, I  pressed  her  hand  to  my  side  familiarly,  as  if  we  had  been 
two  lovers  walking  in  a  lane  on  a  serene  evening. 

"If  you  had  not  made  that  sign,  it  would  have  been  worse  than 
death — in  my  heart,"  I  said.  "He  had  asked  me,  too,  to  renounce 
my  trust,  my  light." 

We  walked  on  slowly,  accompanied  in  our  sudden  silence  by 
the  plash  of  the  fountain  at  the  bottom  of  the  great  square  of  dark- 
ness on  our  left,  and  by  the  piteous  moans  of  the  Chica. 

"  That  is  what  he  meant,"  said  the  enchanting  voice  by  my 
side.    "  And  you  refused.    That  is  your  valor." 


152  ROMANCE 

"  From  no  selfish  motives,"  I  said,  troubled,  as  if  all  the  great 
incertitude  of  my  mind  had  been  awakened  by  the  sound  that 
brought  so  much  delight  to  my  heart.     "  My  valor  is  nothing." 

"  It  has  given  me  a  new  courage,"  she  said. 

"  You  did  not  want  more,"  I  said  earnestly. 

"Ah!    I  was  very  much  alone.     It  is  difficult  to "     She 

hesitated. 

"  To  live  alone,"  I  finished. 

"  More  so  to  die,"  she  whispered,  w^ith  a  new  note  of  timidity. 
"  It  is  frightful.  Be  cautious,  Don  Juan,  for  the  love  of  God, 
because  I  could  not " 

We  stopped.  La  Chica,  silent,  as  if  exhausted,  drooped  lamen- 
tably, with  her  shoulder  against  the  wall,  by  Seraphina's  door ;  and 
the  pure  crystalline  sound  of  the  fountain  below,  enveloping  the 
parting  pause,  seemed  to  wind  its  coldness  round  my  heart. 

"  Poor  Don  Carlos!  "  she  said.  "  I  had  a  great  affection  for 
him.  I  was  afraid  they  would  want  me  to  marry  him.  He  loved 
your  sister." 

"  He  never  told  her,"  I  murmured.  "  I  wonder  if  she  ever 
guessed." 

"  He  was  poor,  homeless,  ill  already,  in  a  foreign  land." 

"  We  all  loved  him  at  home,"  I  said. 

"  He  never  asked  her,"  she  breathed  out.  "  And,  perhaps — 
but  he  never  asked  her." 

"  I  have  no  more  force,"  sighed  La  Chica,  suddenly,  and  sank 
down  at  the  foot  of  the  wall,  putting  the  candlesticks  on  the 
floor. 

"  You  have  been  very  good  to  him,"  I  said;  "  only  he  need  not 
have  demanded  this  from  you.  Of  course,  I  understood  perfectly. 
...    I  hope  you  understand,  too,  that  I " 

"  Senor,  my  cousin,"  she  flashed  out  suddenly,  "  do  you  think 
that  I  would  have  consented  only  from  my  affection  for  him?  " 

"  Senorita,"  I  cried,  "  I  am  poor,  homeless,  in  a  foreign  land. 
How  can  I  believe?  How  can  I  dare  to  dream? — unless  your 
own  voice " 

"  Then  you  are  permitted  to  ask.    Ask,  Don  Juan." 

I  dropped  on  one  knee,  and,  suddenly  extending  her  arm,  she 
pressed  her  hand  to  my  lips.     Lighted  up  from  below,  the  pictur- 


PART  THIRD  153 

esque  aspect  of  her  figure  took  on  something  of  a  transcendental 
grace;  the  unusual  upward  shadows  invested  her  beauty  with  a 
new  mystery  of  fascination,  A  minute  passed.  I  could  hear  her 
rapid  breathing  above,  and  I  stood  up  before  her,  holding  both  her 
hands. 

"  How  very  few  days  have  we  been  together,"  she  whispered. 
"  Juan,  I  am  ashamed." 

"  I  did  not  count  the  days.  I  have  known  you  always.  I  have 
dreamed  of  you  since  I  can  remember — for  days,  for  months,  a  year, 
all  my  life." 

The  crash  of  a  heavy  door  flung  to,  exploded,  filling  the 
galleries  all  round  the  patio  with  the  sonorous  reminder  of  our 
peril. 

"Ah!    We  had  forgotten." 

I  heard  her  voice,  and  felt  her  form  in  my  arms.  Her  lips  at 
my  ear  pronounced: 

"  Remember,  Juan.     Two  lives,  but  one  death  only." 

And  she  was  gone  so  quickly  that  it  was  as  though  she  had 
passed  through  the  wood  of  the  massive  panels. 

The  Chica  crouched  on  her  knees.  The  lights  on  the  floor 
burned  before  her  empty  stare,  and  with  her  bare  shoulders  the 
tone  of  old  ivory  emerging  from  the  white  linen,  with  the  wisps  of 
raven  hair  hanging  down  her  cheeks,  the  abandonment  of  her 
whole  person  embodied  every  outward  mark  and  line  of  desolation. 

"  What  do  you  fear  from  him?  "  I  asked. 

She  looked  up;  moved  nearer  to  me  on  her  knees.  "  I  have  a 
lover  outside." 

She  seized  her  hair  wildly,  drew  it  across  her  face,  tried  to 
stuff  handfuls  of  it  into  her  mouth,  as  if  to  stop  herself  from 
shrieking. 

"  He  shook  his  finger  at  me,"  she  moaned. 

Her  terror,  as  incomprehensible  as  the  emotion  of  an  animal, 
was  gaining  upon  me.     I  said  sternly: 

"  What  can  he  do,  then  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

She  did  not  know.  She  was  like  me.  She  feared  for  her  love. 
Like  myself!  Was  there  anything  in  the  way  of  our  undoing 
which  it  was  not  in  his  power  to  achieve? 


154  ROMANCE 

"  Try  to  be  faithful  to  your  mistress,"  I  said,  "  and  all  may  be 
well  yet." 

She  made  no  answer,  but  staggered  to  her  feet,  and  went  away 
blindly  through  the  door,  which  opened  just  wide  enough  to  let 
her  through.  There  were  clouds  on  the  sky.  The  patio,  in  its 
blackness,  was  like  the  rectangular  mouth  of  a  bottomless  pit.  I 
picked  up  the  candlesticks,  and  lighted  myself  to  my  room,  walking 
upon  air,  upon  tempestuous  air,  in  a  feeling  of  insecurity  and  exul- 
tation. 

The  lights  of  my  candelabrum  had  gone  out.  I  stood  the  two 
candlesticks  on  a  table,  and  the  shadows  of  the  room,  uplifted 
above  the  two  flames  as  high  as  the  ceiling,  filled  the  corners 
heavily  like  gathered  draperies,  descended  to  the  foot  of  the  four 
walls  in  the  shape  of  a  military  tent,  in  which  warlike  objects 
vaguely  gleamed :  a  trophy  of  ancient  arequebuses  and  conquering 
swords,  arranged  with  the  bows,  the  spears,  the  stick  and  stone 
weapons  of  an  extinct  race,  a  war  collar  of  shells  or  pebbles,  a 
round  wicker-work  shield  in  a  halo  of  arrows,  with  a  matchlock 
piece  on  each  side — of  the  sort  that  had  to  be  served  by  two  men. 

I  had  left  the  door  of  my  room  open  on  purpose,  so  that  he  should, 
know  I  was  back  there,  and  ready  for  him.  I  took  down  a  long 
straight  blade,  like  a  rapier,  with  a  basket  hilt.  It  was  a  cumbrous 
weapon,  and  with  a  blunt  edge;  still,  it  had  a  point,  and  I  was 
ready  to  thrust  and  parry  against  the  world.  I  called  upon  my 
foes.  No  enemy  appeared,  and  by  the  light  of  two  candles,  with 
a  sword  in  my  hand,  I  lost  myself  in  the  foreshadowings  of  the 
future. 

It  was  positive  and  uncertain.  I  wandered  in  it  like  a  soul  out- 
side the  gates  of  paradise,  with  an  anticipation  of  bliss,  and  the 
pain  of  my  exclusion.  There  was  only  one  man  in  the  way.  I 
was  certain  he  had  been  watching  us  across  the  blackness  of  the 
patio.  He  must  have  seen  the  dimly-lit  dumbshow  of  our  parting 
at  Seraphina's  door.  I  hoped  he  had  understood,  and  that  my 
shadow,  bearing  the  two  lights,  had  struck  him  as  triumphant  and 
undismayed,  walking  upon  air.  I  strained  my  ears.  I  had 
heard.   .    .    . 

Somebody  was  coming  towards  me  along  the  silent  galleries. 
It  was  he;  I  knew  it.    He  was  coming  nearer  and  nearer.    In  the 


PART  THIRD  155 

profound,  tomb-like  stillness  of  the  great  house,  I  had  heard  the 
sound  of  his  footsteps  on  the  tesselated  pavement  from  afar.  Now 
he  had  turned  the  corner,  and  the  calm,  strolling  pace  of  his  ap- 
proach was  enough  to  strike  awe  into  an  adversary's  heart.  It 
never  hesitated,  not  once ;  never  hurried ;  never  slower  till  they 
stopped.    He  stood  in  the  doorway. 

I  suppose,  in  that  big  room,  by  the  light  of  two  candles,  I  must 
have  presented  an  impressive  picture  of  a  menacing  youth  all  in 
black,  with  a  tense  face,  and  holding  a  naked,  long  rapier  in  his 
hand.  At  any  rate,  he  stood  still,  eying  me  from  the  doorway,  the 
picture  of  a  dapper  Spanish  lawyer  in  a  lofty  frame;  all  in  black, 
also,  with  a  fair  head  and  a  well-turned  leg  advanced  in  a  black 
silk  stocking.  He  had  taken  off  his  riding  boots.  For  the  rest,  I 
had  never  seen  him  dressed  otherwise.  There  was  no  weapon  in  his 
hand,  or  at  his  side. 

I  lowered  the  point,  and,  seeing  he  remained  on  the  doorstep,  as 
if  not  willing  to  trust  himself  within,  I  said  disdainfully: 

"  You  don't  suppose  I  would  murder  a  defenseless  man." 

"Am  I  defenseless?"  He  had  a  slight  lift  of  the  eyebrows. 
"  That  is  news,  indeed.  It  is  you  who  are  supposing.  I  have 
been  a  very  certain  man  for  this  many  a  year." 

"  How  can  you  know  how  an  English  gentleman  would  feel 
and  act?    I  am  neither  a  murderer  nor  yet  an  intriguer." 

He  walked  right  in  .  rapidly,  and,  getting  round  to  the  other 
side  of  the  table,  drew  a  small  pistol  out  of  his  breeches  pocket. 

"  You  see — I  am  not  trusting  too  much  to  your  English  gen- 
erosity." 

He  laid  the  pistol  negligently  on  the  table.  I  had  turned  about 
on  my  heels.  As  we  stood,  by  lunging  between  the  two  candle- 
sticks, I  should  have  been  able  to  run  him  through  the  body  before 
he  could  cry  out. 

I  laid  the  sword  on  the  table. 

"  Would  you  trust  a  damned  Irish  rebel?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  are  wrong  in  your  surmise.  I  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  a  rebel,  even  in  my  thoughts  and  suppositions.  I  think  that 
the  Intendente  of  Don  Balthasar  Riego  would  look  twice  before 
murdering  in  a  bedroom  the  guest  of  the  house — a  relation,  a  friend 
of  the  family." 


156  ROMANCE 

"  That's  sensible,"  he  said,  with  that  unalterable  air  of  good 
nature,  which  sometimes  was  like  the  most  cruel  mockery  of 
humor.  "  And  do  you  think  that  even  a  relation  of  the  Riegos 
would  escape  the  scaffold  for  killing  Don  Patricio  O'Brien,  one 
of  the  Royal  Judges  of  the  Marine  Court,  member  of  the  Council, 
Procurator  to  the  Chapter.   .   .   ." 

"  Intendente  of  the  Casa,"  I  threw  in. 

"  That's  my  gratitude,"  he  said  gravely.     "  So  you  see.    .    .    ." 

"  Supreme  chief  of  thieves  and  picaroons,"  I  suggested  again. 

He  answered  this  by  a  gesture  of  disdainful  superiority. 

"  I  wonder  if  you — if  any  of  you  English — would  have  the 
courage  to  risk  your  all — ambition,  pride,  position,  wealth,  peace  of 
mind,  your  dearest  hope,  your  self-respect — like  this.    For  an  idea." 

His  tone,  that  revealed  something  exalted  and  sad  behind  every- 
thing that  was  sordid  and  base  in  the  acts  of  that  man's  villainous 
tools,  struck  me  with  astonishment.  I  beheld,  as  an  inseparable 
whole,  the  contemptible  result,  the  childishness  of  his  imagination, 
the  danger  of  his  recklessness,  and  something  like  loftiness  in  his 
pitiful  illusion. 

"  Nothing's  too  hot,  too  dirty,  too  heavy.  Any  way  to  get  at 
you  English;  any  means.  To  strike!  That's  the  thing.  I  would 
die  happy  if  I  knew  I  had  helped  to  detach  fi'om  you  one  island — 
one  little  island  of  all  the  earth  you  have  filched  away,  stolen, 
taken  by  force,  got  by  lying.  ,  .  .  Don't  taunt  me  with  your 
taunts  of  thieves.  What  weapons  better  worthy  of  you  could  I 
use  ?  Oh,  I  am  modest.  I  am  modest.  This  is  a  little  thing,  this 
Jamaica.  What  do  I  care  for  the  Separationist  blatherskite  more 
than  for  the  loyal  fools?  You  are  all  English  to  me.  If  I  had  my 
way,  your  Empire  would  die  of  pin-pricks  all  over  its  big-over- 
grown body.  Let  only  one  bit  drop  off.  H  robbing  your  ships  may 
help  it,  then,  as  you  see  me  standing  here,  I  am  ready  to  go  myself 
in  a  leaky  boat.  I  tell  you  Jamaica's  gone.  And  that  may  be  the 
beginning  of  the  end." 

He  lifted  his  arm  not  at  me,  but  at  England,  if  I  may  judge 
from  his  burning  stare.  It  was  not  to  me  he  was  speaking.  There 
we  were,  Irish  and  English,  face  to  face,  as  it  had  been  ever  since 
we  had  met  in  the  narrow  way  of  the  world  that  had  never  been 
big  enough  for  the  tribes,  the  nations,  the  races  of  man. 


PART  THIRD  157 

"  Now,  Mr.  O'Brien,  I  don't  know  what  you  may  do  to  me,  but 
I  won't  listen  to  any  of  this,"  I  said,  very  red  in  the  face. 

"Who  wants  you  to  listen?"  he  muttered  absently,  and  went 
away  from  the  table  to  look  out  of  the  loophole,  leaving  me  there 
with  the  sword  and  the  pistol. 

Whatever  he  might  have  said  of  the  scaffold,  this  was  very 
imprudent  of  him.  It  was  characteristic  of  the  man — of  that 
impulsiveness  which  existed  in  him  side  by  side  with  his  sagacity, 
with  his  coolness  in  intrigue,  with  his  unmerciful  and  revengeful 
temper.  By  my  own  feelings  I  understood  what  an  imprudence  it 
was.  But  he  was  turning  his  back  on  me,  and  how  could  I  ?  .  .  , 
His  imprudence  was  so  complete  that  it  made  for  security.  He  did 
not,  I  am  sure,  remember  my  existence.  I  would  just  as  soon  have 
jumped  with  a  dagger  upon  a  man  in  the  dark. 

He  was  really  stirred  to  his  depths — to  the  depths  of  his  hate, 
and  of  his  love — by  seeing  me,  an  insignificant  youth  (I  was  no 
more) ,  surge  up  suddenly  in  his  path.  He  turned  where  he  stood  at 
last,  and  contemplated  me  with  a  sort  of  thoughtful  surprise,  as 
though  he  had  tried  to  account  to  himself  for  my  existence. 

"  No,"  he  said,  to  himself  really,  "  I  wonder  when  I  look  at 
you.  How  did  you  manage  to  get  that  pretty  reputation  over 
there?  Ramon's  a  fool.  He  shall  know  it  to  his  cost.  But  the 
craftiness  of  that  Carlos !  Or  is  it  only  my  confounded  willingness 
to  believe?  " 

He  was  putting  his  finger  nearly  on  the  very  spot.  I  said 
nothing. 

"  Why,"  he  exclaimed,  "  when  it's  all  boiled  down,  you  are 
only  an  English  beggar  boy." 

"  I've  come  to  a  man's  estate  since  we  had  met  last,"  I  said 
meaningly. 

He  seemed  to  meditate  over  this.  His  face  never  changed,  ex- 
cept, perhaps,  to  an  even  more  amused  benignity  of  expression. 

"  You  have  lived  very  fast  by  that  account,"  he  remarked  art- 
lessly. "  Is  it  possible,  now?  Well,  life,  as  you  know,  can't  last 
forever;  and,  indeed,  taking  a  better  look  at  you  in  this  poor  light, 
you  do  seem  to  be  very  near  death." 

I  did  not  flinch;  and,  with  a  very  dry  mouth,  I  uttered  defiantly: 

"  Such  talk  means  nothing." 


158  ROMANCE 

"  Bravely  said.  But  this  is  not  talk.  You've  gone  too  fast. 
I  am  giving  you  a  chance  to  turn  back." 

"  Not  an  inch,"  I  said  fiercely.  "  Neither  in  thought,  in  deed; 
not  even  in  semblance." 

He  seemed  as  though  he  wanted  to  swallov^^  a  bone  in  his  throat. 

"  Believe  me,  there  is  more  in  life  than  you  think.  There  is  at 
your  age,  more  than  .  .  ."  he  had  a  strange  contortion  of  the 
body,  as  though  in  a  sudden  access  of  internal  pain ;  that  humorous 
smile,  that  abode  in  the  form  of  his  lips,  changed  into  a  ghastly, 
forced  grin  ..."  than  one  love  in  a  life — more  than  one 
vi^oman." 

I  believe  he  tried  to  leer  at  me,  because  his  voice  was  absolutely 
dying  in  his  throat.  My  indignation  was  boundless.  I  cried  out 
with  the  fire  of  deathless  conviction. 

"  It  is  not  true.    You  know  it  is  not  true." 

He  was  speechless  for  a  time;  then,  shaking  and  stammering 
with  that  inward  rage  that  seemed  to  heave  like  molten  lava  in 
his  breast,  without  ever  coming  to  the  surface  of  his  face : 

"  What!  Is  it  I,  then,  who  have  to  go  back?  For — for  you — 
a  boy — come  from  devil  knows  where — an  English,  beggarly.  .  .  . 
For  a  girl's  whim.   .   .   .   I — a.  man." 

He  calmed  down.  "  No;  you  are  mad.  You  are  dreaming. 
You  don't  know.  You  can't — you !  You  don't  know  what  a  man 
is ;  you  with  your  calf-love  a  day  old.  How  dare  you  look  at  me 
who  have  breathed  for  years  in  the  very  air?  You  fool — you  little, 
wretched    fool!      For    years   sleeping,    and    waking,    and    work- 

ing.    .    .    ;"    _ 

"  And  intriguing,"  I  broke  in,  "  and  plotting,  and  deceiving — 
for  years." 

This  calmed  him  altogether.  "  I  am  a  man;  you  are  but  a  boy; 
or  else  I  would  not  have  to  tell  you  that  your  love  " — he  choked 
at  the  word — "  is  to  mine  like — like " 

His  eyes  fell  on  a  cut-glass  water-ewer,  and,  with  a  convulsive 
sweep  of  his  arm,  he  sent  it  flying  far  away  from  the  table.  It  fell 
heavily,  shattering  itself  with  the  unringing  thud  of  a  piece  of  ice. 

"  Like  this." 

He  remained  for  some  time  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  table,  and 
when  he  looked  up  at  me  it  was  with  a  sort  of  amused  incredulity. 


PART  THIRD  159 

His  tone  was  not  resentful.  He  spoke  in  a  business-like  manner,  a 
little  contemptuously.  I  had  only  Don  Carlos  to  thank  for  the 
position  in  which  I  found  myself.  What  the  "  poor  devil  over 
there  "  expected  from  me,  he,  O'Brien,  would  not  inquire.  It  was 
a  ridiculous  boy  and  girl  affair.  If  those  two — meaning  Carlos 
and  Seraphina — had  not  been  so  mighty  clever,  I  should  have  been 
safe  now  in  Jamaica  jail,  on  a  charge  of  treasonable  practices.  He 
seemed  to  find  the  idea  funny.  Well,  anyhow,  he  had  meant  no 
worse  by  me  than  my  own  dear  countrymen.  When  he,  O'Brien, 
had  found  how  absurdly  he  had  been  hoodwinked  by  Don  Carlos 
— the  poor  devil — and  misled  by  Ramon — he  would  make  him 
smart  for  it,  yet — all  he  had  intended  to  do  was  to  lodge  me  in 
Havana  jail.    On  his  word  of  honor.   ... 

"  Me  in  jail!  "  I  cried  angrily.  "  You — ^you  would  dare!  On 
what  charge?    You  could  not.  .  .  ." 

"  You  don't  know  what  Pat  O'Brien  can  do  in  Cuba."  The 
little  country  solicitor  came  out  in  a  flash  from  under  the  Spanish 
lawyer.  Then  he  frowned  slightly  at  me.  "  You  being  an  Eng- 
lishman, I  would  have  had  you  taken  up  on  a  charge  of  stealing." 

Blood  rushed  to  my  face.  I  lost  control  over  myself.  "  Mr. 
O'Brien,"  I  said,  "  I  dare  say  you  could  have  trumped  up  anything 
against  me.    You  are  a  very  great  scoundrel." 

"  Why?  Because  I  don't  lie  about  my  m_otives,  as  you  all  do? 
I  would  wish  you  to  know  that  I  would  scorn  to  lie  either  to 
myself  or  to  you." 

I  touched  the  haft  of  the  sword  on  the  table.  It  was  lying  with 
the  point  his  way. 

"  I  had  been  thinking,"  said  I,  in  great  heat,  "  to  propose  to  you 
that  we  should  fight  it  out  between  us  two,  man  to  man,  rebel  and 
traitor  as  you  have  been." 

"  The  devil  you  have!  "  he  muttered. 

"  But  really  you  are  too  much  of  a  Picaroon.  I  think  the 
gallows  should  be  your  end." 

I  gave  reins  to  my  exasperation,  because  I  felt  myself  hopelessly 
in  his  powxr.  What  he  was  driving  at,  I  could  not  tell.  I  had 
an  intolerable  sense  of  being  as  much  at  his  mercy  as  though  I  had 
been  lying  bound  hand  and  foot  on  the  floor.  It  gave  me  pleasure 
to  tell  him  what  I  thought.    And,  perhaps,  I  was  not  quite  candid, 


ibo  ROMANCE 

either.  Suppose  I  provoked  him  enough  to  fire  his  pistol  at  me. 
He  had  been  fingering  the  butt,  absently,  as  we  talked.  He  might 
have  missed  me,  and  then.  .  .  .  Or  he  might  have  shot  me  dead. 
But  surely  there  was  some  justice  in  Cuba.  It  was  clear  enough 
that  he  did  not  wish  to  kill  me  himself.  Well,  this  was  a  desperate 
strait;  to  force  him  to  do  something  he  did  not  wish  to  do,  even  at 
the  cost  of  my  own  life,  was  the  only  step  left  open  to  me  to 
thwart  his  purpose;  the  only  thing  I  could  do  just  then  for  the 
furtherance  of  my  mission  to  save  Seraphina  from  his  intrigues. 
I  was  oppressed  by  the  misery  of  it  all.  As  to  killing  him  as  he 
stood — if  I  could  do  it  by  being  very  quick  with  the  old  rapier 
— my  bringing  up,  my  ideas,  my  very  being,  recoiled  from  it.  I 
had  never  taken  a  life.  I  was  very  young.  I  was  not  used  to 
scenes  of  violence ;  and  to  begin  like  this  in  cold  blood !  Not  only 
my  conscience,  but  my  very  courage  faltered.  Truth  to  tell,  I 
was  afraid ;  not  for  myself — I  had  the  courage  to  die ;  but  I  was 
afraid  of  the  act.  It  was  the  unknown  for  me — for  my  nerve — for 
my  conscience.  And  then  the  Spanish  gallows!  That,  too,  re- 
volted me.  To  kill  him,  and  then  kill  myself.  .  .  .  No,  I  must 
live.  "  Two  lives,  one  death,"  she  had  said.  .  .  .  For  a  second 
or  two  my  brain  reeled  with  horror ;  I  was  certainly  losing  my  self- 
possession.     His  voice  broke  upon  that  nightmare. 

"  It  may  be  your  lot,  yet,"  it  said. 

I  burst  into  a  nervous  laugh.  For  a  moment  I  could  not  stop 
myself. 

"  I  won't  murder  you,"  I  cried. 

To  this  he  said   astonishingly,  "  Will  you  go  to  Mexico?  " 

It  sounded  like  a  joke.  He  was  very  serious.  "  I  shall  send 
one  of  the  schooners  there  on  a  little  affair  of  mine.  I  can  make 
use  of  you.    I  give  you  this  chance." 

It  was  as  though  he  had  thrown  a  bucketful  of  water  over  me. 
I  had  an  inward  shiver,  and  became  quite  cool.  It  was  his  turn 
now  to  let  himself  go. 

It  was  a  matter  of  delivering  certain  papers  to  the  Spanish 
Commandant  in  Timaulipas.  There  would  be  some  employment 
found  for  me  with  the  Royal  troops.  I  was  a  relation  of  the  Riegos. 
And  there  came  upon  his  voice  a  strange  ardor;  a  swiftness  into 
his  utterance.     He  walked  away  from  the  table;  came  back,  and 


PART  THIRD  i6i 

gazed  into  my  face  in  a  marked,  expectant  manner.     He  was  not 
prompted  by  any  love  for  me,  he  said,  and  had  an  uncertain  laugh. 

My  wits  had  returned  to  me  wholly ;  and  as  he  repeated  "  No 
love  for  you — no  love  for  you,"  I  had  the  intuition  that  what  in- 
fluenced him  was  his  love  for  Seraphina.  I  saw  it.  I  read  it  in 
the  workings  of  his  face.  His  eyes  retained  his  good-humored 
twinkle.  He  did  not  attach  any  importance  to  a  boy  and  girl 
affair ;  not  at  all — pah !  The  lady,  naturally  young,  warm-  i 
hearted,  full  of  kindness.  I  mustn't  think.  Ha,  ha!  A  man  of  his 
age,  of  course,  understood.    .    .    .     No  importance  at  all. 

He  walked  away  from  the  table  trying  to  snap  his  fingers,  and, 
suddenly,  he  reeled ;  he  reeled,  as  though  he  had  been  overcome  by 
the  poison  of  his  jealousy — as  though  a  thought  had  stabbed  him 
to  the  heart.  There  was  an  instant  when  the  sight  of  that  man 
moved  me  more  than  anything  I  had  seen  of  passionate  suffering 
before  (and  that  was  nothing),  or  since.  He  longed  to  kill  me 
— I  felt  it  in  the  very  air  of  the  room ;  and  he  loved  her  too  much 
to  dare.  He  laughed  at  me  across  the  table.  I  had  ridiculously 
misunderstood  a  very  proper  and  natural  kindness  of  a  girl  with 
not  much  worldly  experience.  He  had  known  her  from  the  earli- 
est childhood. 

"  Take  my  word  for  it,"  he  stammered. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  there  w^ere  tears  in  his  eyes.  A  stiff  smile 
was  parting  his  lips.  He  took  up  the  pistol,  and  evidently  not 
knowing  anything  about  it,  looked  with  an  air  of  curiosity  into  the 
barrel. 

It  was  time  to  think  of  making  my  career.  That's  what  I  ought 
to  be  thinking  of  at  my  age.  "  At  your  age — at  your  age,"  he  re- 
peated aimlessly.  I  was  an  Englishman.  He  hated  me — and  it 
was  easy  to  believe  this,  though  he  neither  glared  nor  grimaced. 
He  smiled.  He  smiled  continuously  and  rather  pitifully.  But 
his  devotion  to  a — a — person  who.  ...  His  devotion  was  great 
enough  to  overcome  even  that,  even  that.  Did  I  understand?  I 
owed  it  to  the  lady's  regard,  which,  for  the  rest,  I  had  misunder- 
stood— stupidly  misunderstood. 

"  Well,  at  your  age  it's  excusable!  "  he  mumbled.  "  A  career 
that  .   .   ." 

"  I  see,"  I  said  slowly.     Young  as  I  was,  it  was  impossible  to 


1 62  ROMANCE 

mistake  his  motives.  Only  a  man  of  mature  years,  and  really 
possessed  by  a  great  passion — by  a  passion  that  had  grown  slowly, 
till  it  was  exactly  as  big  as  his  soul — could  have  acted  like  this — 
with  that  profound  simplicity,  with  such  resignation,  with  such 
horrible  moderation.  But  I  wanted  to  find  out  more.  "  And  when 
would  you  want  me  to  go?  "  I  asked,  with  a  dissimulation  of  which 
I  would  not  have  suspected  myself  capable  a  moment  before.  I 
was  maturing  in  the  fire  of  love,  of  danger;  in  the  lurid  light  of 
life  piercing  through  my  youthful  innocence. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  banging  the  pistol  onto  the  table  hurriedly.  "  At 
once.    To-night.     Now." 

"  Without  seeing  anybody?  " 

"  Without  seeing   .   .   .   Oh,  of  course.    In  your  own  interest." 

He  was  very  quiet  now.  "  I  thought  you  looked  intelligent 
enough,"  he  said,  appearing  suddenly  very  tired.  "  I  am  glad  you 
see  your  position.  You  shall  go  far  in  the  Royal  service,  on  the 
faith  of  Pat  O'Brien,  English  as  you  are.  I  will  make  it  my  own 
business  for  the  sake  of — the  Riego  family.  There  is  only  one 
little  condition." 

He  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  a  piece  of  paper,  a  pen,  a  traveling 
inkstand.  He  looked  the  lawyer  to  the  life;  the  Spanish  family 
lawyer  grafted  on  an  Irish  attorney. 

"  You  can't  see  anybody.  But  you  ought  to  write.  Doiia  Sera- 
phina  naturally  would  be  interested.  A  cousin  and  ...  I  shall 
explain  to  Don  Balthasar,  of  course.  ...  I  will  dictate :  '  Out 
of  regard  for  your  future,  and  the  desire  for  active  life,  of  your 
own  will,  you  accept  eagerly  Senor  O'Brien's  proposition.'  She'll 
understand." 

"  Oh,  yes,  she'll  understand,"  I  said. 

"  Yes.  And  that  you  will  write  of  your  safe  arrival  in  Timau- 
lipas.    You  must  promise  to  write.    Your  word  .   .  ." 

"By  heavens,  Sefior  O'Brien!"  I  burst  out  with  inexpressible 
scorn,  "  I  thought  you  meant  your  villains  to  cut  my  throat  on 
the  passage.     I  should  have  deserved  no  better  fate." 

He  started.  I  shook  with  rage.  A  change  had  come  upon  both 
of  us  as  sudden  as  if  we  had  been  awakened  by  a  violent  noise. 
For  a  time  we  did  not  speak  a  word.  One  look  at  me  was  enough 
for  him.    He  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead. 


PART  THIRD  163 

"  What  devil's  in  you,  boy?  "  he  said.  "  I  seem  to  make  nothing 
but  mistakes." 

He  went  to  the  loophole  window,  and,  advancing  his  head,  cried 
out: 

"  The  schooner  does  not  sail  to-night." 

He  had  some  of  his  cut-throats  posted  under  the  window.  I 
could  not  make  out  the  reply  he  got;  but  after  a  while  he  said 
distinctly,  so  as  to  be  heard  below: 

"  I  give  up  that  spy  to  you."  Then  he  came  back,  put  the  pistol 
in  his  pocket,  and  said  to  me,  "  Fool!  I'll  make  you  long  for  death 
yet." 

"  You've  given  yourself  away  pretty  well,"  I  said.  "  Some  day 
I  shall  unmask  you.  It  will  be  my  revenge  on  you  for  daring  to 
propose  to  me  .   .   ." 

"What?"  he  interrupted,  over  his  shoulder.  "You?  Not 
you — and  I'll  tell  you  why.     It's  because  dead  men  tell  no  tales." 

He  passed  through  the  door — a  back  view  of  a  dapper  Spanish 
lawyer,  all  in  black,  in  a  lofty  frame.  The  calm,  strolling  footsteps 
went  away  along  the  gallery.  He  turned  the  corner.  The  tapping 
of  his  heels  echoed  in  the  patio,  into  whose  blackness  filtered  the 
first  suggestion  of  the  dawn. 


CHAPTER  V 

I  REMEMBER  walking  about  the  room,  and  thinking  to  my- 
self, "  This  is  bad,  this  is  very  bad;  what  shall  I  do  now?  " 
A  sort  of  mad  meditation  that  in  this  meaningless  way  be- 
came so  tense  as  to  positively  frighten  me.  Then  it  occurred  to  me 
that  I  could  do  nothing  whatever  at  present,  and  I  was  soothed 
by  this  sense  of  powerlessness,  which,  one  would  think,  ought  to 
have  driven  me  to  distraction.  I  went  to  sleep  ultimately,  just  as 
a  man  sentenced  to  death  goes  to  sleep,  lulled  in  a  sort  of  ghastly 
way  by  the  finality  of  his  doom.  Even  when  I  awoke  it  kept  me 
steady,  in  a  way.  I  washed,  dressed,  walked,  ate,  said  "  Good- 
morning,  Cesar,"  to  the  old  major-domo  I  met  in  the  gallery;  ex- 
changed grins  with  the  negro  boys  under  the  gateway,  and  watched 
the  mules  being  ridden  out  barebacked  by  other  nearly  naked  negro 
boys  into  the  sea,  with  great  splashing  of  water  and  a  noise  of 
voices.  A  small  knot  of  men,  unmistakably  Lugarehos,  stood  on 
the  beach,  also,  watching  the  mules,  and  exchanging  loud  jocular 
shouts  with  the  blacks.  Rio  Medio,  the  dead,  forsaken,  and  dese- 
crated city,  was  lying,  as  bare  as  a  skeleton,  on  the  sands.  They 
were  yellow;  the  bay  was  very  blue,  the  wooded  hills  very 
green. 

After  the  mules  had  been  ridden  uproariously  back  to  the  stables, 
wet  and  capering,  and  shaking  their  long  ears,  all  the  life  of  the 
land  seemed  to  take  refuge  in  this  vivid  coloring.  As  I  looked  at 
it  from  the  outer  balcony  above  the  great  gate,  the  small  group 
of  Liigarenos  turned  about  to  look  at  the  Casa  Riego.  They  recog- 
nized me,  no  doubt,  and  one  of  them  flourished,  threateningly,  an 
arm  from  under  his  cloak.     I  retreated  indoors. 

This  was  the  only  menacing  sign,  absolutely  the  only  one  sign 
that  marked  this  day.  It  was  a  day  of  pause.  Seraphina  did  not 
leave  her  apartments;  Don  Balthasar  did  not  show  himself; 
Father  Antonio,  hurrying  towards  the  sick  room,  greeted  me  with 
only  a  wave  of  the  hand.     I  was  not  admitted  to  see  Carlos;  the 

164 


PART  THIRD  165 

nun  came  to  the  door,  shook  her  head  at  me,  and  closed  it  gently  in 
my  face.  Castro,  sitting  on  the  floor  not  very  far  away,  seemed 
unaware  of  me  in  so  marked  a  manner  that  it  inspired  me  with 
the  idea  of  not  taking  the  slightest  notice  of  him.  Now  and  then 
the  figure  of  a  maid  in  white  linen  and  bright  petticoat  flitted  in 
the  upper  gallery,  and  once  I  fancied  I  saw  the  black,  rigid  carriage 
of  the  duenna  disappearing  behind  a  pillar. 

Senor  O'Brien,  old  Cesar  whispered,  without  looking  at  me,  was 
extremely  occupied  in  the  Cancillaria.  His  midday  meal  was 
served  him  there.  I  had  mine  all  alone,  and  then  the  sunny,  heat- 
laden  stillness  of  siesta-time  fell  upon  the  Castilian  dignity  of  the 
'  house. 

I  sank  into  a  kind  of  reposeful  belief  in  the  work  of  accident. 
Something  would  happen.  I  did  not  know  how  soon  and  how 
atrociously  my  belief  was  to  be  justified.  I  exercised  my  ingenuity 
in  the  most  approved  lover-fashion — in  devising  means  how  to  get 
secret  speech  with  Seraphina.  The  confounded  silly  maids  fled 
from  my  most  distant  appearance,  as  though  I  had  the  pest.  I 
was  wondering  whether  I  should  not  go  simply  and  audaciously 
and  knock  at  her  door,  when  I  fancied  I  heard  a  scratching  at  mine. 
It  was  a  very  stealthy  sound,  quite  capable  of  awakening  my  dor- 
mant emotions. 

I  went  to  the  door  and  listened.  Then,  opening  it  the  merest 
crack,  I  saw  the  inexplicable  emptiness  of  the  gallery.  Castro,  on 
his  hands  and  knees,  startled  me  by  whispering  at  my  feet: 

"  Stand  aside,  senor." 

He  entered  my  room  on  all-fours,  and  waited  till  I  got  the  door 
closed  before  he  stood  up. 

"  Even  he  may  sleep  sometimes,"  he  said.  "  And  the  balustrade 
has  hidden  me." 

To  see  this  little  saturnine  bandit,  who  generally  stalked  about 
haughtily,  as  if  the  whole  Casa  belonged  to  him  by  right  of  fidelity, 
crawl  into  my  room  like  this  was  inexpressibly  startling.  He 
shook  the  folds  of  his  cloak,  and  dropped  his  hat  on  the  floor. 

"  Still,  it  is  better  so.  The  very  women  of  the  house  are  not 
safe,"  he  said.  "  Seiior,  I  have  no  mind  to  be  delivered  to  the 
English  for  hanging.  But  I  have  not  been  admitted  to  see  Don 
Carlos,  and,  therefore,  I  must  make  my  report  to  you.    These  are 


1 66  ROMANCE 

Don  Carlos'  orders.  '  Serve  him,  Castro,  when  I  am  dead,  as  if 
my  soul  had  passed  into  his  body.'  " 

He  nodded  sadly.  "  Sif  But  Don  Carlos  is  a  friend  to  me 
and  you — you."  He  shook  his  head,  and  drew  me  away  from  the 
door.  "  Two  Lugarenos,"  he  said,  "  Manuel  and  another  one,  did 
go  last  night,  as  directed  by  the  friar  " — he  supposed — "  to  meet 
the  Juez  in  the  bush  outside  Rio  Medio." 

I  had  guessed  that  much,  and  told  him  of  Manuel's  behavior 
under  my  window.     How  did  they  know  my  chamber? 

'*  Bad,  bad,"  muttered  Castro.  "  La  Chica  told  her  lover,  no 
doubt."     He  hissed,  and  stamped  his  foot. 

She  was  pretty,  but  flighty.  The  lover  was  a  silly  boy  of  decent. 
Christian  parents,  who  was  always  hanging  about  in  the  low 
villages.     No  matter. 

What  he  could  not  understand  was  why  some  boats  should  have 
been  held  in  readiness  till  nearly  the  morning  to  tow  a  schooner 
outside.  Manuel  came  along  at  dawn,  and  dismissed  the  crews. 
They  had  separated,  making  a  great  noise  on  the  beach,  and  yelling, 
"  Death  to  the  Inglez^ 

I  cleared  up  that  point  for  him.  He  told  me  that  O'Brien 
had  the  duenna  called  to  his  room  that  morning.  Nothing  had 
been  heard  outside,  but  the  woman  came  out  staggering,  with  her 
hand  on  the  wall.  He  had  terrified  her.  God  knows  what  he 
had  said  to  her.  The  widow — as  Castro  called  her — had  a  son,  an 
escrivano  in  one  of  the  Courts  of  Justice.    No  doubt  it  was  that. 

"  There  it  is,  senor,"  murmured  Castro,  scowling  all  round, 
as  if  every  wall  of  the  room  was  an  enemy.  "  He  holds  all  the 
people  in  his  hand  in  some  way.  Even  I  must  be  cautious,  though 
I  am  a  humble,  trusted  friend  of  the  Casa!  " 

"  What  harm  could  he  do  you?  "  I  asked. 

"  He  is  civil  to  me.  Amigo  Castro  here,  and  Amiga  Castro 
there.     Bah!     The  devil,  alone,  is  his  friend!     He  could  deliver 

me  to  justice,  and  get  my  life  sworn  away.    He  could Quien 

sabef  What  need  he  care  what  he  does — a  man  that  can  get  abso- 
lution from  the  archbishop  himself  if  he  likes." 

He  meditated.  "  No!  there  is  only  one  remedy  for  him."  He 
tiptoed  to  my  ear.     "  The  knife!  " 

He  made  a  pass  in  the  air  with  his  blade,  and  I  remembered 


Castro^  on  his  bands  and  knees^  startled  me  by  whispering  at 
my  feet :  "  Stand  aside ^  senor  " 


PART  THIRD  167 

vividly  the  cockroach  he  had  impaled  with  such  accuracy  on  board 
the  Thames.  His  baneful  glance  reminded  me  of  his  murderous 
capering  in  the  steerage,  w\\tn  he  had  thought  that  the  only  remedy 
for  me  was  the  knife. 

He  went  to  the  loop-hole,  and  passed  the  steel  thoughtfully  on 
the  stone  edge.    I  had  not  moved. 

"  The  knife;  but  what  would  you  have?  Before,  when  I  talked 
of  this  to  Don  Carlos,  he  only  laughed  at  me.  That  was  his  way 
in  matters  of  importance.  Now  they  will  not  let  me  come  in  to 
him.  He  is  too  near  God — and  the  seiiorita — why,  she  is  too  near 
the  saints  for  all  the  great  nobility  of  her  spirit.  But,  que  dia- 
bleria,  when  I — in  my  devotion — opened  my  mouth  to  her  I  saw 
some  of  that  spirit  in  her  eyes.  .  .  ." 

There  was  a  slight  irony  in  his  voice.  "  No!  Me — Castro!  to 
be  told  that  an  English  senora  would  have  dismissed  me  forever 
from  her  presence  for  such  a  hint.  '  Your  Excellency,'  I  said, 
'  deign,  then,  to  find  it  good  that  I  should  avoid  giving  offense  to 
that  man.  It  is  not  my  desire  to  run  my  neck  into  the  iron 
collar.'  " 

He  looked  at  me  fixedly,  as  if  expecting  me  to  make  a  sign,  then 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Bueno.  You  see  this?  Then  look  to  it  yourself,  sefior.  You 
are  to  me  even  as  Don  Carlos — all  except  for  the  love.  No  Eng- 
lish body  is  big  enough  to  receive  his  soul.  No  friend  will  be  left 
that  would  risk  his  very  honor  of  a  noble  for  a  man  like  Tomas 
Castro.  Let  me  warn  you  not  to  leave  the  Casa,  even  if  a  shining 
angel  stood  outside  the  gate  and  called  you  by  name.  The  gate  is 
barred,  now,  night  and  day.  I  have  dropped  a  hint  to  Cesar,  and 
that  old  African  knows  more  than  the  sefior  would  suppose.  I 
cannot  tell  how  soon  I  may  have  the  opportunity  to  talk  to  you 
again." 

He  peeped  through  the  crack  of  the  door,  then  slipped  out, 
suddenly  falling  at  once  on  his  hands  and  knees,  so  as  to  be  hidden 
by  the  stone  balustrade  from  anybody  in  the  patio.  He,  too,  did 
not  think  himself  safe. 

Early  in  the  evening  I  descended  into  the  court,  and  Father 
Antonio,  walking  up  and  down  the  patio  with  his  eyes  on  his  brevi- 
ary, muttered  to  me: 


1 68  ROMANCE 

"  Sit  on  this  chair,"  and  went  on  without  stopping. 

I  took  a  chair  near  the  marble  rim  of  the  basin  with  its  border 
of  English  flowers,  its  splashing  thread  of  water.  The  goldfishes 
that  had  been  lying  motionless,  with  their  heads  pointing  diflferent 
ways,  glided  into  a  bunch  to  the  fall  of  my  shadow,  waiting  for 
crumbs  of  bread. 

Father  Antonio,  his  head  down,  and  the  open  breviary  under  his 
nose,  brushed  my  foot  with  the  skirt  of  his  cassock. 

"  Have  you  any  plan?  " 

When  he  came  back,  walking  very  slowly,  I  said,  "  None." 

At  his  next  turn  I  pronounced  rapidly,  "  I  should  like  to  see 
Carlos." 

He  frowned  over  the  edge  of  the  book. 

I  understood  that  he  refused  to  let  me  in.  And,  after  all,  why 
should  I  disturb  that  dying  man?  The  news  about  him  was  that 
he  felt  stronger  that  day.  But  he  was  preparing  for  eternity. 
Father  Antonio's  business  was  to  save  souls.  I  felt  horribly  crushed 
and  alone.    The  priest  asked,  hardly  moving  his  lips: 

"  What  do  you  trust  to?  " 

I  had  the  time  to  meditate  my  reply.  "  Tell  Carlos  I  think  of 
escape  by  sea." 

He  made  a  little  sign  of  assent,  turned  off  towards  the  staircase, 
and  went  back  to  the  sick  room. 

"The  folly  of  it,"  I  thought.  How  could  I  think  of  it?  Es- 
cape where?  I  dared  not  even  show  myself  outside  the  Casa.  My 
safety  within  depended  on  old  Cesar  more  than  on  anybody  else. 
He  had  the  key  of  the  gate,  and  the  gate  was  practically  the  only 
thing  between  me  and  a  miserable  death  at  the  hands  of  the  first 
ruffian  I  met  outside.  And  with  the  thought  I  seemed  to  stifle  in 
that  patio  open  to  the  sky. 

That  gate  seemed  to  cut  off  the  breath  of  life  from  me.  I  was 
there,  as  if  in  a  trap.  Should  I — I  asked  myself — try  to  enlighten 
Don  Balthasar?  Why  not?  He  would  understand  me.  I  would 
tell  him  that  in  his  own  town,  as  he  always  called  Rio  Medio,  there 
lurked  assassination  for  his  guest.  That  would  move  him  if  any- 
thing could. 

He  was  then  walking  with  O'Brien  after  dinner,  as  he  had 
walked  with  me  on  the  day  of  my  arrival.     Only  Seraphina  had 


PART  THIRD  169 

not  appeared,  and  we  three  men  had  sat  out  the  silent  meal 
alone. 

They  stopped  as  I  approached,  and  Don  Balthasar  listened  to 
me  benignantly.  "Ah,  yes,  yes!  Times  have  changed,"  But 
there  was  no  reason  for  alarm.  There  were  some  undesirable 
persons.  Had  they  not  arrived  lately?  He  turned  to  O'Brien, 
who  stood  by,  in  readiness  to  resume  the  walk,  and  answered,  "  Yes, 
quite  lately.  Very  undesirable,"  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone.  The 
excellent  Don  Patricio  would  take  measures  to  have  them  removed, 
the  old  man  soothed  me.  But  it  was  not  really  dangerous  for 
anyone  to  go  out.  Again  he  addressed  O'Brien,  who  only  smiled 
gently,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  What  an  absurdity."  I  must  not 
forget,  continued  the  old  man,  the  veneration  for  the  very  name 
of  Riego  that  still,  thank  Heaven,  survived  in  these  godless  and 
revolutionary  times  in  the  Riegos'  own  town. 

He  straightened  his  back  a  little,  looking  at  me  with  dignity, 
and  then  glanced  at  the  other,  who  inclined  his  head  affirmatively. 
The  utter  and  complete  hopelessness  of  the  position  appalled  me 
for  a  moment.  The  old  man  had  not  put  foot  outside  his  door  for 
years,  not  even  to  go  to  church.  Father  Antonio  said  Mass  for 
him  every  day  in  the  little  chapel  next  the  dining  room.  When 
O'Brien — for  his  own  purposes,  and  the  better  to  conceal  his  own 
connection  with  the  Rio  Medio  piracies — had  persuaded  him  to  go 
to  Jamaica  officially,  he  had  been  rowed  in  state  to  the  ship  waiting 
outside.  For  many  years  now  it  had  been  impossible  to  enlighten 
him  as  to  the  true  condition  of  affairs.  He  listened  to  people's 
talk  as  though  it  had  been  children's  prattle.  I  have  related  how 
he  received  Carlos'  denunciations,  li  one  insisted,  he  would  draw 
himself  up  in  displeasure.  But  in  his  decay  he  had  preserved  a 
great  dignity,  a  grave  firmness  that  intimidated  me  a  little. 

I  did  not,  of  course,  insist  that  evening,  and,  after  giving  me  my 
dismissal  in  a  gesture  of  blessing,  he  resumed  his  engrossing  con- 
versation wnth  O'Brien.  It  related  to  the  services  commemorating 
his  wife's  death,  those  services  that,  once  every  twelve  months, 
draped  in  black  all  the  churches  in  Havana.  A  hundred  masses,  no 
less,  had  to  be  said  that  day ;  a  distribution  of  alms  had  to  be  made. 
O'Brien  was  charged  with  all  the  arrangements,  and  I  caught,  as 
they  crept  past  me  up  and  down  the  patio,  snatches  of  phrases  re- 


170  ROMANCE 

lating  to  this  mournful  function,  when  all  the  capital  was  invited 
to  pray  for  the  soul  of  the  illustrious  lady.  The  priest  of  the  church 
of  San  Antonio  had  said  this  and  that;  the  grand  vicar  of  the 
diocese  had  made  difficulties  about  something;  however,  by  the 
archbishop's  special  grace,  no  less  than  three  altars  would  be  draped 
in  the  cathedral. 

I  saw  Don  Balthasar  smile  with  an  ineffable  satisfaction;  he 
thanked  O'Brien  for  his  zeal,  and  seemed  to  lean  more  familiarly 
on  his  arm.  His  voice  trembled  with  eagerness.  "  And  now,  my 
excellent  Don  Patricio,  as  to  the  number  of  candles.  .   .   ." 

I  stood  for  a  while  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot,  overwhelmed  by  my 
insignificance.  O'Brien  never  once  looked  my  way.  Then,  hang- 
ing my  head,  I  went  slowly  up  the  white  staircase  towards  my 
room. 

Cesar,  going  his  rounds  along  the  gallery,  shuffled  his  silk-clad 
shanks  smartly  between  two  young  negroes  balancing  lanthorns 
suspended  on  the  shafts  of  their  halberds.  That  little  group  had 
a  mediaeval  and  outlandish  aspect.  Cesar  carried  a  bunch  of  keys 
in  one  hand,  his  staff  of  office  in  the  other.  He  stood  aside,  in  his 
maroon  velvet  and  gold  lace,  holding  the  three-cornered  hat  under 
his  arm,  bowing  his  gray,  woolly  head — the  most  venerable  and 
deferential  of  major-domos.  His  attendants,  backing  against  the 
wall,  grounded  their  halberds  heavily  at  my  approach. 

He  stepped  out  to  intercept  me,  and,  with  great  discretion, 
"  Senor,  a  word,"  he  said  in  his  subdued  voice.  "  A  moment  ago 
I  have  been  called  within' the  door  of  our  seiiorita's  apartments. 
She  has  given  me  this  for  your  worship,  together  with  many  com- 
pliments.   It  is  a  seal.    The  senor  will  understand." 

I  took  it ;  it  was  a  tiny  seal  with  her  monogram  on  it.  "  Yes," 
I  said. 

"  And  Senorita  Dona  Seraphina  has  charged  me  to  repeat  " — 
he  made  a  stealthy  sign,  as  if  to  counteract  an  evil  influence 
— "  the  words,  '  Two  lives — one  death.'  The  senor  will  under- 
stand." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  looking  away  with  a  pang  at  my  heart. 

He  touched  my  elbow.  "  And  to  trust  Cesar.  Senor,  I  dandled 
her  when  she  was  quite  little.  Let  me  most  earnestly  urge  upon 
your  worship  not  to  go  near  the  windows,  especially  if  there  is 


PART  THIRD  171 

light  in  your  worship's  room.  Evil  men  are  gazing  upon  the  house, 
and  I  have  seen  myself  the  glint  of  a  musket  at  the  end  of  the 
street.  The  moon  grows  fast,  too.  The  seiiorita  begs  you  to  trust 
Cesar." 

"  Are  there  many  men?  "  I  asked. 

"  Not  many  in  sight ;  I  have  seen  only  one.  But  by  signs,  open 
to  a  man  of  my  experience,  I  suspect  many  more  to  be  about." 
Then,  as  I  looked  down  on  the  ground,  he  added  parenthetically, 
"  They  are  poor  shots,  one  and  all,  lacking  the  very  firmness  of 
manhood  necessary  to  discharge  a  piece  with  a  good  aim.  Still, 
senor,  I  am  ordered  to  entreat  you  to  be  cautious.  Strange  it  is  that 
to-night,  from  the  great  revelry  at  the  Aldea  Bajo,  one  might  think 
they  had  just  visited  an  English  ship  outside." 

A  ship!  a  ship!  of  any  sort.  But  how  to  get  out  of  the  Casa? 
Murder  forbade  me  even  as  much  as  to  look  out  of  the  windows. 
Was  there  a  ship  outside?  Cesar  was  positive  there  was  not — 
not  since  I  had  arrived.  Besides,  the  empty  sea  itself  was  un- 
attainable, it  seemed. 

I  pressed  the  seal  to  my  lips.  "  Tell  the  senorita  how  I  received 
her  gift,"  I  said;  and  the  old  negro  inclined  his  head  lower  still. 
"  Tell  her  that  as  the  letters  of  her  name  are  graved  on  this,  so 
are  all  the  words  she  has  spoken  graven  on  my  heart." 

They  went  away  busily,  the  lanthorns  swinging  about  the  ax- 
heads  of  the  halberds,  Cesar's  staff  tapping  the  stones. 

I  shut  my  door,  and  buried  my  face  in  the  pillows  of  the  state 
bed.  My  mental  anguish  was  excessive;  action,  alone,  could  re- 
lieve it.  I  had  been  battling  viith  my  thoughts  like  a  man  fighting 
with  shadows.  I  could  see  no  issue  to  such  a  struggle,  and  I 
prayed  for  something  tangible  to  encounter — something  that  one 
could  overcome  or  go  under  to.  I  must  have  fallen  suddenly 
asleep,  because  there  was  a  lion  in  front  of  me.  It  lashed  its 
tail,  and  beyond  the  indistinct  agitation  of  the  brute  I  saw  Sera- 
phina.  I  tried  to  shout  to  her;  no  voice  came  out  of  my  throat. 
And  the  lion  produced  a  strange  noise;  he  opened  his  jaws  like  a 
door.    I  sat  up. 

It  was  like  a  change  of  dream.  A  glare  filled  my  eyes.  In  the 
wide  doorway  ot  my  room,  in  a  group  of  attendants,  I  saw  a  figure 
in  a  short  black  cloak  standing,  hat  on  head,  and  an  arm  out- 


172  ROMANCE 

stretched.  It  was  Don  Balthasar.  He  held  himself  more  erect 
than  I  had  ever  seen  him  before.  Stifled  sounds  of  weeping,  a 
vast,  confused  rumor  of  lamentations,  running  feet  and  slamming 
doors,  came  from  behind  him;  his  aged,  dry  voice,  much  firmer 
and  very  distinct,  was  speaking  to  me. 

"  You  are  summoned  to  attend  the  bedside  of  Don  Carlos  Riego 
at  the  hour  of  death,  to  help  his  soul  struggling  on  the  threshold 
of  eternity  with  your  prayers — as  a  kinsman  and  a  fijjiend." 

A  great  draught  swayed  the  lights  about  that  black  and  courtly 
figure.  All  the  windows  and  doors  of  the  palace  had  been  flung 
open  for  the  departure  of  the  struggling  soul.  Don  Balthasar 
turned ;  the  group  of  attendants  was  gone  in  a  moment,  with  a 
tramp  of  feet  and  jostling  of  lights  in  the  long  gallery. 

I  ran  out  after  them.  A  wavering  glare  came  from  under  the 
arch,  and,  through  the  open  gate,  I  saw  the  bulky  shape  of  the 
bishop's  coach  waiting  outside  in  the  moonlight.  A  strip  of  cloth 
fell  from  step  to  step  down  the  middle  of  the  broad  white  stairs. 
The  staircase  was  brilliantly  lighted,  and  quite  empty.  The  house- 
hold was  crowding  the  upper  galleries;  the  sobbing  murmurs  of 
their  voices  fell  into  the  deserted  patio.  The  strip  of  crimson  cloth 
laid  for  the  bishop  ran  across  it  from  the  arch  of  the  stairway  to 
the  entrance. 

The  door  of  Carlos'  room  stood  wide  open;  I  saw  the  many 
candles  on  a  table  covered  with  white  linen,  the  side  of  the  big 
bed,  surpliced  figures  moving  within  the  room.  There  was  the 
ringing  of  small  bells,  and  sighing  groans  from  the  kneeling  forms 
in  the  gallery  through  which  I  Vv-as  making  my  way  slowly. 

Castro  appeared  at  my  side  suddenly.     "  Senor,"  he  began,  with 

saturnine  stoicism,  "  he  is  dead.     I  have  seen  battlefields " 

His  voice  broke. 

I  saw,  through  the  large  portal  of  the  death-chamber,  Don 
Balthasar  and  Seraphina  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed ;  the  bowed 
heads  of  two  priests;  the  bishop,  a  tiny  old  man,  in  his  vestments; 
and  Father  Antonio,  burly  and  motionless,  with  his  chin  in  his 
hand,  as  if  left  behind  after  leading  that  soul  to  the  very  gate  of 
Eternity.  All  about  me,  women  and  men  were  crossing  them- 
selves; and  Castro,  who  for  a  moment  had  covered  his  eyes  with 
his  hand,  touched  my  elbow. 


PART  THIRD  173 

"  And  you  live,"  he  said,  with  somber  emphasis;  then,  warningly, 
"  You  are  in  great  danger  now." 

I  looked  around,  as  if  expecting  to  see  an  uplifted  knife.  I  saw 
only  a  lot  of  people — household  negroes  and  the  women — rising 
from  their  knees.     Below,  the  patio  was  empty. 

"  The  house  is  defenseless,"  Castro  continued. 

We  heard  tumultuous  voices  under  the  gate. 

O'Brien  appeared  in  the  doorway  of  Carlos'  room  with  an  at- 
tentive and  dismayed  expression  on  his  face.  I  do  not  really  think 
he  had  anything  to  do  with  what  then  took  place.  He  meant  to 
have  me  killed  outside;  but  the  rabble,  excited  by  Manuel's  in- 
flammatory speeches,  had  that  night  started  from  the  villages  below 
with  the  intention  of  clamoring  for  my  life.  Many  of  their 
women  were  with  them.  Some  of  the  Lugarehos  carried  torches, 
others  had  pikes ;  most  of  them,  however,  had  nothing  but  their 
long  knives.  They  came  in  a  disorderly,  shouting  mob  along  the 
beach,  intending  this  not  for  an  attack,  but  as  a  simple  demonstra- 
tion. 

The  sight  of  the  open  gate  struck  them  with  wonder.  The 
bishop's  coach  blocked  the  entrance,  and  for  a  time  they  hesitated, 
awed  by  the  mystery  of  the  house  and  by  the  rites  going  on  in 
there.  Then  two  or  three  bolder  spirits  stole  closer.  The  bishop's 
people,  of  course,  did  not  think  of  offering  any  resistance.  The 
very  defenselessness  of  the  house  restrained  the  mob  for  a  while. 
A  few  more  men  from  outside  ran  in.  Several  women  began  to 
clamor  scoldingly  to  them  to  bring  the  Inglez  out.  Then  the  men, 
encouraging  each  other  in  their  audacity,  advanced  further  under 
the  arch. 

A  solitary  black,  the  only  guard  left  at  the  gate,  shouted  at 
them,  "  Arria!  Go  back."  It  had  no  effect.  More  of  them 
crowded  in,  though,  of  course,  the  greater  part  of  that  mob  re- 
mained outside.  The  black  rolled  big  eyes.  He  could  not  stop 
them;  he  did  not  like  to  leave  his  post;  he  dared  not  fire.  "  Go 
back;  go  back,"  he  repeated. 

"  Not  without  the  Inglez,"  they  answered. 

The  tumult  we  had  heard  arose  when  the  Lugarehos  sud- 
denly fell  upon  the  sentry,  and  wrenched  his  musket  from  him. 

This  man,  when  disarmed,  ran  away.    I  saw  him  running  across 


174  ROMANCE 

the  patio,  on  the  crimson  pathway,  to  the  foot  of  the  staircase. 
His  shouting,  "  The  Lugarehos  have  risen!  "  broke  upon  the  hush 
of  mourning.  Father  Antonio  made  a  brusque  movement,  and 
Seraphina  sent  a  startled  glance  in  my  direction. 

The  cloistered  court,  with  its  marble  basin  and  a  jet  of  water 
in  the  center,  remained  empty  for  a  moment  after  the  negro  had 
run  across;  a  growing  clamor  penetrated  into  it.  In  the  midst 
of  it  I  heard  O'Brien's  voice  saying,  "  Why  don't  they  shut  the 
gate?  "  Immediately  afterwards  a  woman  in  the  gallery  cried  out 
in  surprise,  and  I  saw  the  Lugarenos  pour  into  the  patio. 

For  a  time  that  motley  group  of  bandits  stood  in  the  light,  as  if 
intimidated  by  the  great  dignity  of  the  house,  by  the  mysterious 
prestige  of  the  Casa,  whose  interior,  probably,  none  of  them  had 
ever  seen  before.  They  gazed  about  silently,  as  if  surprised  to  find 
themselves  there. 

It  looked  as  if  they  would  have  retired  if  they  had  not  caught 
sight  of  me.  A  murmur  of  "  the  Inglez  "  arose  at  once.  By  that 
time  the  household  negroes  had  occupied  the  staircase  with  what 
weapons  they  could  find  upstairs. 

Father  Antonio  pushed  past  O'Brien  out  of  the  room,  and  shook 
his  arms  over  the  balustrade. 

"  Impious  men,"  he  cried,  "  begone  from  this  house  of  death." 
His  eyes  flashed  at  the  ruffians,  who  stared  stupidly  from  below. 

"  Give  us  the  Inglez"  they  growled. 

Seraphina,  from  within,  cried,  "  Juan."  I  was  then  near  the 
door,  but  not  within  the  room. 

"  The  Inglez!  The  heretic!  The  traitor!  "  came  in  sullen,  sub- 
dued mutter.  A  hoarse,  reckless  voice  shouted,  "  Give  him  to  us, 
and  we  shall  go !  " 

"  You  are  putting  in  danger  all  the  lives  in  this  house !  "  O'Brien 
hissed  at  me.  "  Senorita,  pray  do  not."  He  stood  in  the  way  of 
Seraphina,  who  wished  to  come  out. 

"It  is  you!"  she  cried.  "It  is  you!  It  is  your  voice,  it  is 
your  hand,  it  is  your  iniquity !  " 

He  was  confounded  by  her  vehemence. 

"  Who  brought  him  here?  "  he  stammered.  "  Am  I  to  find  one 
of  that  accursed  brood  forever  in  my  way  ?  I  take  him  to  witness 
that  for  your  sake " 


PART  THIRD  175 

A  formidable  roar,  "  Throw  us  down  the  Inglez!  "  filled  the 
patio.  They  were  gaining  assurance  down  there ;  and  the  ferocious 
clamoring  of  the  mob  outside  came  faintly  upon  our  ears. 

O'Brien  barred  the  way.  Don  Balthasar  leaned  on  his  daugh- 
ter's arm — she  very  straight,  with  tears  still  on  her  face  and  indig- 
nation in  her  eye,  he  bowed,  and  with  his  immovable  fine  features 
set  in  the  calmness  of  age.  Behind  that  group  there  were  two 
priests,  one  with  a  scared,  white  face,  another,  black-browed,  with 
an  exalted  and  fanatical  aspect.  The  light  of  the  candles  from  the 
improvised  altar  fell  on  the  bishop's  small,  bald  head,  emerging 
with  a  patient  droop  from  the  wide  spread  of  his  cope,  as  though 
he  had  been  inclosed  in  a  portable  gold  shrine.  He  was  ready 
to  go. 

Don  Balthasar,  who  seemed  to  have  heard  nothing,  as  if  sud- 
denly waking  up  to  his  duty,  left  his  daughter,  and  muttering  to 
O'Brien,  "  Let  me  precede  the  bishop,"  came  out,  bare-headed,  into 
the  gallery.  Father  Antonio  had  turned  away,  and  his  heavy  hand 
fell  on  O'Brien's  shoulder. 

"  Have  you  no  heart,  no  reverence,  no  decency?  "  he  said.  "  In 
the  name  of  everything  you  respect,  I  call  upon  you  to  stop  this 
sacrilegious  outbreak." 

O'Brien  shook  off  the  priestly  hand,  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon 
Seraphina.  I  happened  to  be  looking  at  his  face;  he  seemed  to  be 
ready  to  go  out  of  his  mind.  His  jealousy,  the  awful  torment  of 
soul  and  body,  made  him  motionless  and  speechless. 

Seeing  Don  Balthasar  appear  by  the  balustrade,  the  ruffians 
below  had  become  silent  for  a  while.  His  aged,  mechanical  voice 
was  heard  asking  distinctly: 

"  What  do  these  people  want?  " 

Seraphina,  from  within  the  room,  said  aloud,  "  They  are  clamor- 
ing for  the  life  of  our  guest."  She  looked  at  O'Brien  contemp- 
tuously, "  They  are  doing  this  to  please  you." 

"  Before  God,  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  this." 

It  was  true  enough,  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  this  outbreak; 
and  I  believe  he  would  have  interfered,  but,  in  his  dismay  at 
having  lost  himself  in  the  eyes  of  Seraphina,  in  his  rage  against 
myself,  he  did  not  know  how  to  act.  No  doubt  he  had  been  de- 
ceiving himself  as  to  his  position  with  Seraphina.     He  was  a  man 


176  ROMANCE 

who  lived  on  Illusions,  and  was  inclined  to  put  implicit  faith  in  his 
wishes.  His  desire  of  revenge  on  me,  the  downfall  of  his  hopes 
(he  could  no  longer  deceive  himself),  a  desperate  striving  of 
thought  for  their  regaining,  his  impulse  towards  the  impossible — 
all  these  emotions  paralyzed  his  will. 

Don  Balthasar  beckoned  to  me. 

"  Don't  go  near  him,"  said  O'Brien,  in  a  thick,  mumbling  voice. 
"  I  shall I  must " 

I  put  him  aside.  Don  Balthasar  took  my  arm.  "  Misguided 
populace,"  he  Avhispered.  "  They  have  been  a  source  of  sorrow  to 
me  lately.  But  this  wicked  folly  is  incredible.  I  shall  call  upon 
them  to  come  to  their  senses.    My  voice " 

The  court  below  was  strongly  lighted,  so  that  I  saw  the  bearded, 
bronzed,  wild  faces  of  the  Lugarehos  looking  up.  We,  also,  were 
strongly  shown  by  the  light  of  the  doorway  behind  us,  and  by  the 
torches  burning  in  the  gallery. 

That  morning,  in  my  helplessness,  I  had  come  to  put  my  trust 
in  accident — in  some  accident — I  hardly  knew  of  what  nature — 
my  own  death,  perhaps — that  would  find  a  solution  for  my  respon- 
sibilities, put  an  end  to  my  tormenting  thoughts.  And  now  the 
accident  came  with  a  terrible  swiftness,  at  which  I  shudder  to  this 
day. 

We  were  looking  down  into  the  patio.  Don  Balthasar  had  just 
said,  "You  are  nowhere  as  safe  as  by  my  side,"  when  I  noticed  a 
Lugareno  withdrawing  himself  from  the  throng  about  the  basin. 
His  face  came  to  me  familiarly.  He  was  the  pirate  with  the  broken 
nose,  who  had  had  a  taste  of  m.y  fist.  He  had  the  sentry's  musket 
on  his  shoulder,  and  was  slinking  away  towards  the  gate. 

Don  Balthasar  extended  his  hand  over  the  balustrade,  and  there 
was  a  general  movement  of  recoil  below.  I  wondered  why  the 
slaves  on  the  stairs  did  not  charge  and  clear  the  patio;  but  I  sup- 
pose with  such  a  mob  outside  there  was  a  natural  hesitation  in 
bringing  the  position  to  an  issue.  The  hugarehos  were  muttering, 
"  Look  at  the  Inglez!"  then  cried  out  together,  "  Excellency,  give 
up  this  Inglez!  " 

Don  Balthasar  seemed  ten  years  younger  suddenly.  I  had  never 
seen  him  so  imposingly  erect. 

"  Insensate!  "  he  began,  without  any  anger. 


PART  THIRD  177 

"He's  going  to  fire!  "  yelled  Castro's  voice  somewhere  in  the 
gallery. 

I  saw  a  red  dart  in  the  shadow  of  the  gate.  The  broken-nosed 
pirate  had  fired  at  me.  The  report,  deadened  in  the  vault,  hardly 
reached  my  ears.  Don  Balthasar's  arm  seemed  to  swing  me  back. 
Then  I  felt  him  lean  heavily  on  my  shoulder.  I  did  not  know 
what  had  happened  till  I  heard  him  say: 

"  Pray  for  me,  gentlemen." 

Father  Antonio  received  him  in  his  arms. 

For  a  second  after  the  shot,  the  most  dead  silence  prevailed  in 
the  court.  It  was  broken  by  an  affrighted  howl  below:  and  Sera- 
phina's  voice  cried  piercingly: 

"Father!" 

The  priest,  dropping  on  one  knee,  sustained  the  silvery  head, 
with  its  thin  features  already  calm  in  death.  Don  Balthasar  had 
saved  my  life;  and  his  daughter  flung  herself  upon  the  body. 
O'Brien  pressed  his  hands  to  his  temples,  and  remained  motion- 
less. 

I  saw  the  bishop,  in  his  stiff  cope,  creep  up  to  the  group  with 
the  motion  of  a  tortoise.  And,  for  a  moment,  his  quavering 
voice  pronouncing  the  absolution  was  the  only  sound  in  the 
house. 

Then  a  most  fiendish  noise  broke  out  below.  The  negroes  had 
charged,  and  the  Lugarenos,  struck  with  terror  at  the  unforeseen 
catastrophe,  were  rushing  helter-skelter  through  the  gate.  The 
screaming  of  the  maids  was  frightful.  They  ran  up  and  down  the 
galleries  with  their  hair  streaming.  O'Brien  passed  me  by  swiftly, 
muttering  like  a  madman. 

I,  also,  got  down  into  the  courtyard  In  time  to  strike  some  heavy 
blows  under  the  gateway ;  but  I  don't  know  who  it  was  that  thrust 
into  my  hands  the  musket  which  I  used  as  a  club.  The  sudden 
burst  of  shrieks,  the  cries  of  terror  under  the  vault  of  the  gate, 
yells  of  rage  and  consternation,  silenced  the  mob  outside.  The 
Lugarenos,  appalled  at  what  had  happened,  shouted  most  pitifully. 
They  squeaked  like  the  vermin  they  were.  I  brought  down  the 
clubbed  musket ;  two  went  down.  Of  two  I  am  sure.  The  rush 
of  flying  feet  swept  through  between  the  walls,  bearing  me  along. 
For  a  time  a  black  stream  of  men  eddied  in  the  moonlight  round 


178  ROMANCE 

the  bishop's  coach,  like  a  torrent  breaking  round  a  boulder.  The 
great  heavy  machine  rocked,  mules  plunged,  torches  swayed. 

The  archway  had  been  cleared.  Outside,  the  slaves  were  form- 
ing in  the  open  space  before  the  Casa,  while  Cesar,  with  a  few 
others,  labored  to  swing  the  heavy  gates  to.  Hats,  torn  cloaks, 
knives  strewed  the  flagstones,  and  the  dim  light  of  the  lamps, 
fastened  high  up  on  the  walls,  fell  on  the  faces  of  three  men 
stretched  out  on  their  backs.  Another,  lying  huddled  up  in  a  heap, 
got  up  suddenly  and  rushed  out. 

The  thought  of  Seraphina  clinging  to  the  lifeless  body  of  her 
father  upstairs  came  to  me;  it  came  over  me  in  horror,  and  I  let 
the  musket  fall  out  of  my  hand.  A  silence  like  the  silence  of 
despair  reigned  in  the  house.  She  would  hate  me  now.  I  felt 
as  if  I  could  walk  out  and  give  myself  up,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
sight  of  O'Brien. 

He  was  leaning  his  shoulders  against  the  wall  in  the  posture 
of  a  man  suddenly  overcome  by  a  deadly  disease.  No  one  was 
looking  at  us.  It  came  to  me  that  he  could  not  have  many  illusions 
left  to  him  now.  He  looked  up  wearily,  saw  me,  and,  waking 
up  at  once,  thrust  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his  breeches.  I 
thought  of  his  pistol.  No  wild  hope  of  love  would  prevent  him, 
now,  from  killing  me  outright.  The  fatal  shot  that  had  put  an 
end  to  Don  Balthasar's  life  must  have  brought  to  him  an  awaken- 
ing worse  than  death.  I  made  one  stride,  caught  him  by  both  arms 
swiftly,  and  pinned  him  to  the  wall  with  all  my  strength.  We 
struggled  in  silence. 

I  found  him  much  more  vigorous  than  I  had  expected;  but,  at 
the  same  time,  I  felt  at  once  that  I  was  more  than  a  match  for 
him.  We  did  not  say  a  word.  We  made  no  noise.  But,  in  our 
struggle,  we  got  away  from  the  wall  into  the  middle  of  the  gate- 
way. I  dared  not  let  go  of  his  arms  to  take  him  by  the  throat.  He 
only  tried  to  jerk  and  wrench  himself  away.  Had  he  succeeded, 
it  would  have  been  death  for  me.  We  never  moved  our  feet  from 
the  spot  fairly  in  the  middle  of  the  archway,  but  nearer  to  the 
gate  than  to  the  patio.  The  slaves,  formed  outside,  guarded  the 
bishop's  coach,  and  I  do  not  know  that  there  was  anybody  else 
actually  with  us  under  the  vault  of  the  entrance.  We  glared  into 
each  other's  faces,  and  the  world  seemed  very  still  around  us.     I 


PART  THIRD  179 

felt  in  me  a  passion — not  of  hate,  but  of  determination  to  be  done 
with  him ;  and  from  his  face  it  was  possible  to  guess  his  suffering, 
his  despair,  or  his  rage. 

In  the  midst  of  our  straining  I  heard  a  sibilant  sound,  I  de- 
tached my  eyes  from  his;  his  struggles  redoubled,  and,  behind  him, 
stealing  in  towards  us  from  the  court,  black  on  the  strip  of  crimson 
cloth,  I  saw  Tomas  Castro.  He  flung  his  cloak  back.  The  light 
of  the  lanthorn  under  the  keystone  of  the  arch  glimmered  feebly 
on  the  blade  of  his  maimed  arm.  He  made  a  discreet  and  blood- 
curdling gesture  to  me  with  the  other. 

How  could  I  hold  a  man  so  that  he  should  be  stabbed  from 
behind  in  my  arms?  Castro  was  running  up  swiftly,  his  cloak 
opening  like  a  pair  of  sable  wings.  Collecting  all  my  strength,  I 
forced  O'Brien  round,  and  we  swung  about  in  a  flash.  Now  he 
had  his  back  to  the  gate.  My  effort  seemed  to  have  uprooted  him. 
I  felt  him  give  way  all  over. 

As  soon  as  our  position  had  changed,  Castro  checked  himself, 
and  stepped  aside  into  the  shadow  of  the  guardroom  doorway. 
I  don't  think  O'Brien  had  been  aware  of  what  had  been  going  on. 
His  strength  was  overborne  by  mine.  I  drove  him  backwards. 
His  eyes  blinked  wildly.  He  bared  his  teeth.  He  resisted,  as 
though  I  had  been  forcing  him  over  the  brink  of  perdition.  His 
feet  clung  to  the  flagstones.    I  shook  him  till  his  head  rolled. 

"  Viper  brood !  "  he  spluttered. 

"  Out  you  go!  "  I  hissed. 

I  had  found  nothing  heroic,  nothing  romantic  to  say — nothing 
that  would  express  my  desperate  resolve  to  rid  the  world  of  his 
presence.  All  I  could  do  was  to  fling  him  out.  The  Casa  Riego 
was  all  my  world — a  world  full  of  great  pain,  great  mourning, 
and  love.  I  saw  him  pitch  headlong  under  the  wheels  of  the 
bishop's  enormous  carriage.  The  black  coachman  who  had  sat 
aloft,  unmoved  through  all  the  tumult,  in  his  white  stockings  and 
three-cornered  hat,  glanced  down  from  his  high  box.  And  the  two 
parts  of  the  gate  came  together  with  a  clang  of  ironwork  and  a 
heavy  crash  that  seemed  as  loud  as  thunder  under  that  vault. 


CHAPTER  VI 

NOT  even  in  memory  am  I  willing  to  live  over  again  those 
three  days  vi^hen  Father  Antonio,  the  old  major-domo, 
and  myself  would  meet  each  other  in  the  galleries,  in  the 
patio,  in  the  empty  rooms,  moving  in  the  stillness  of  the  house 
with  heavy  hearts  and  desolate  eyes,  which  seemed  to  demand, 
"  What  is  there  to  do?  " 

Of  course,  precautions  were  taken  against  the  Lugarehos.  They 
were  besieging  the  Casa  from  afar.  They  had  established  a  sort  of 
camp  at  the  end  of  the  street,  and  they  prowled  about  amongst 
the  old,  barricaded  houses  in  their  pointed  hats,  in  their  rags  and 
finery;  women,  with  food,  passed  constantly  between  the  villages 
and  the  panic-stricken  town ;  there  were  groups  on  the  beach ;  and 
one  of  the  schooners  had  been  towed  down  the  bay,  and  was  lying, 
now,  moored  stem  and  stern  opposite  the  great  gate.  They  did 
nothing  whatever  active  against  us.  They  lay  around  and  watched, 
as  if  in  pursuance  of  a  plan  traced  by  a  superior  authority.  They 
were  watching  for  me.  But  when,  by  some  mischance,  they  burnt 
the  roof  off  the  outbuildings  that  were  at  some  distance  from  the 
Casa,  their  chiefs  sent  up  a  deputation  of  three,  with  apologies. 
Those  men  came  unarmed,  and,  as  it  were,  under  Castro's  protec- 
tion, and  absolutely  whimpered  with  regrets  before  Father  An- 
tonio. "  Would  his  reverence  kindly  intercede  with  the  most 
noble  senorita?    .    .    ." 

"Silence!  Dare  not  pronounce  her  name!"  thundered  the 
good  priest,  snatching  away  his  hand,  which  they  attempted  to  grab 
and  kiss. 

I,  in  the  background,  noted  their  black  looks  at  me,  even  as  they 
cringed.  The  man  who  had  fired  the  shot,  they  said,  had  expired 
of  his  wounds  ofter  great  torments.  Their  other  dead  had  been 
thrust  out  of  the  gate  before.  A  long  fellow,  with  slanting  eye- 
brows and  a  scar  on  his  cheek,  called  El  Rechado,  tried  to  inform 
Cesar,  confidentially,  that  Manuel,  his  friend,  had  been  opposed  to 

1 80 


PART  THIRD  i8i 

any  encroachment  of  the  Casa's  offices,  only:  "That  Do- 
mingo  " 

As  soon  as  we  discovered  what  was  their  object  (their  apparent 
object,  at  any  rate),  they  were  pushed  out  of  the  gate  unceremo- 
niously,— still  protesting  their  love  and  respect, — by  the  Riego 
negroes.  Castro  followed  them  out  again,  after  exchanging  a 
meaning  look  with  Father  Antonio.  To  live  in  the  two  camps, 
as  it  were,  was  a  triumph  of  Castro's  diplomacy,  of  his  saturnine 
mysteriousness.  He  kept  us  in  touch  with  the  outer  world,  coming 
in  under  all  sorts  of  pretenses,  mostly  with  messages  from  the 
bishop,  or  escorting  the  priests  that  came  in  relays  to  pray  by  the 
bodies  of  the  two  last  Riegos  lying  in  state,  side  by  side,  rigid  in 
black  velvet  and  white  lace  ruffles,  on  the  great  bed  dragged  out 
into  the  middle  of  the  room. 

Two  enormous  wax  torches  in  iron  stands  flamed  and  guttered 
at  the  door;  a  black  cloth  draped  the  emblazoned  shields;  and 
the  wind  from  the  sea,  blowing  through  the  open  casement,  inclined 
all  together  the  flames  of  a  hundred  candles,  pale  in  the  sunlight, 
extremely  ardent  in  the  night.  The  murmur  of  prayers  for  these 
souls  went  on  incessantly ;  I  have  it  in  my  ears  now.  There  would 
be  always  some  figure  of  the  household  kneeling  in  prayer  at  the 
door;  or  the  old  major-domo  would  come  in  to  stand  at  the  foot, 
motionless  for  a  time;  or,  through  the  open  door,  I  would  see  the 
cassock  of  Father  Antonio,  flung  on  his  knees,  with  his  forehead 
resting  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  his  hands  clasped  above  his  ton- 
sure. 

Apart  from  what  was  necessary  for  defense,  all  the  life  of  the 
house  seemed  stopped.  Not  a  woman  appeared ;  all  the  doors  were 
closed ;  and  the  numbing  desolation  of  a  great  bereavement  was 
symbolized  by  Don  Balthasar's  chair  in  the  patio,  which  had  re- 
mained lying  overturned  in  full  view  of  every  part  of  the  house, 
till  I  could  bear  the  sight  no  longer,  and  asked  Cesar  to  have  it 
put  away.  "  Si,  senor,"  he  said  deferentially,  and  a  few  tears  ran 
suddenly  down  his  withered  cheeks.  The  English  flowers  had 
been  trampled  down ;  an  unclean  hat  floated  on  the  basin,  now 
here,  now  there,  frightening  the  goldfish  from  one  side  to  the  other. 

And  Seraphina.  It  seems  not  fitting  that  I  should  write  of  her 
in  these  days.     I  hardly  dared  let  my  thoughts  approach  her,  but 


i82  ROMANCE 

I  had  to  think  of  her  all  the  time.  Her  sorrow  was  the  very  soul 
of  the  house. 

Shortly  after  I  had  thrown  O'Brien  out  the  bishop  had  left,  and 
then  I  learned  from  Father  Antonio  that  she  had  been  carried  away 
to  her  own  apartments  in  a  fainting  condition.  The  excellent 
man  was  almost  incoherent  with  distress  and  trouble  of  mind,  and 
walked  up  and  down,  his  big  head  drooping  on  his  capacious  chest, 
the  joints  of  his  entwined  fingers  cracking.  I  had  met  him  in  the 
gallery,  as  I  was  making  my  way  back  to  Carlos'  room  in  anxiety 
and  fear,  and  we  had  stepped  aside  into  a  large  saloon,  seldom 
used,  above  the  gatew^ay.  I  shall  never  forget  the  restless,  swift 
pacing  of  that  burly  figure,  while,  feeling  utterly  crushed,  now  the 
excitement  was  over,  I  leaned  against  a  console.  Three  long 
bands  of  moonlight  fell,  chilly  bluish,  into  the  vast  room,  with  its 
French  Empire  furniture  stiffly  arranged  about  the  white  walls. 

"  And  that  man?  "  he  asked  me  at  last. 

"  I  could  have  killed  him  with  my  own  hands,"  I  said.  "  I  was 
the  stronger.  He  had  his  pistols  on  him,  I  am  certain,  only  I  could 
not  be  a  party  to  an  assassination.   .   .   ." 

"  Oh,  my  son,  it  would  have  been  no  sin  to  have  exerted  the 
strength  which  God  had  blessed  you  with,"  he  interrupted.  "  We 
are  allowed  to  kill  venomous  snakes,  wild  beasts ;  we  are  given  our 
strength  for  that,  our  intelligence.  .  .  ."  And  all  the  time  he 
walked  about,  wringing  his  hands. 

"  Yes,  your  reverence,"  I  said,  feeling  the  most  miserable  and 
helpless  of  lovers  on  earth;  "  but  there  was  no  time.  If  I  had  not 
thrown  him  out,  Castro  would  have  stabbed  him  in  the  back  in  my 
very  hands.    And  that  would  have  been "    Words  failed  me. 

I  had  been  obliged  not  only  to  desist  myself,  but  to  save  his 
life  from  Castro.  I  had  been  obliged !  There  had  been  no  option. 
Murderous  enemy  as  he  was,  it  seemed  to  me  I  should  never  have 
slept  a  wink  all  the  rest  of  my  life. 

"Yes,  it  is  just,  it  is  just.  What  else?  Alas!"  Father  An- 
tonio repeated  disconnectedly.    "  Those  feelings  implanted  in  your 

breast I  have  served  my  king,  as  you  know,  in  my  sacred 

calling,  but  in  the  midst  of  war,  which  is  the  outcome  of  the  wicked- 
ness natural  to  our  fallen  state.  I  understand ;  I  understand.  It 
may  be  that  God,  in  his  mercy,  did  not  wish  the  death  of  that 


PART  THIRD  183 

evil  man — not  yet,  perhaps.  Let  us  submit.  He  m.ay  repent." 
He  snuffled  aloud.  "  I  think  of  that  poor  child,"  he  said  through 
his  handkerchief.  Then,  pressing  my  arm  with  his  vigorous  fingers, 
he  murmured,  "  I  fear  for  her  reason." 

It  may  be  imagined  in  what  state  I  spent  the  rest  of  that  sleep- 
less night.  At  times,  the  thought  that  I  was  the  cause  of  her 
bereavement  nearly  drove  me  mad. 

And  there  was  the  danger,  too. 

But  what  else  could  I  have  done?  My  whole  soul  had  recoiled 
from  the  horrible  help  Castro  was  bringing  us  at  the  point  of  his 
blade.    No  love  could  demand  from  me  such  a  sacrifice. 

Next  day  Father  Antonio  was  calmer.  To  my  trembling  in- 
quiries he  said  something  consolatory  as  to  the  blessed  relief  of 
tears.  When  not  praying  fervently  in  the  mortuary  chamber,  he 
could  be  seen  pacing  the  gallery  in  a  severe  aloofness  of  meditation. 
In  the  evening  he  took  me  by  the  arm,  and,  without  a  word,  led 
me  up  a  narrow  and  winding  staircase.  He  pushed  a  small  door, 
and  we  stepped  out  on  a  flat  part  of  the  roof,  flooded  in  moonlight. 

The  points  of  land  dark  with  the  shadows  of  trees  and  broken 
ground  clasped  the  waters  of  the  bay,  with  a  body  of  shining  white 
mists  in  the  center;  and,  beyond,  the  vast  level  of  the  open  sea, 
touched  with  glitter,  appeared  infinitely  somber  under  the  lumi- 
nous sky. 

We  stood  back  from  the  parapet,  and  Father  Antonio  threw  out 
a  thick  arm  at  the  splendid  trail  of  the  moon  upon  the  dark  water. 

"  This  is  the  only  way,"  he  said. 

He  had  a  warm  heart  under  his  black  robe,  a  simple  and  coura- 
geous comprehension  of  life,  this  priest  who  was  very  much  of  a 
man;  a  certain  grandeur  of  resolution  when  it  was  a  matter  of 
what  he  regarded  as  his  principal  office. 

"  This  is  the  way,"  he  repeated. 

Never  before  had  I  been  struck  so  much  by  the  gloom,  the  vast- 
ness,  the  emptiness  of  the  open  sea,  as  on  that  moonlight  night. 
And  Father  Antonio's  deep  voice  went  on: 

"  My  son,  since  God  has  made  use  of  the  nobility  of  your  heart 
to  save  that  sinner  from  an  unshriven  death " 

He  paused  to  mutter,  "Inscrutable!  inscrutable!"  to  himself,, 
sighed,  and  then: 


1 84  ROMANCE 

"  Let  us  rejoice,"  he  continued,  with  a  completely  unconcealed 
resignation,  "  that  you  have  been  the  chosen  instrument  to  afford 
him  an  opportunity  to  repent." 

His  tone  changed  suddenly. 

"  He  will  never  repent,"  he  said  with  great  force.  "  He  has 
sold  his  soul  and  body  to  the  devil,  like  these  magicians  of  old 
of  whom  we  have  records." 

He  clicked  his  tongue  with  compunction,  and  regretted  his  want 
of  charity.  It  was  proper  for  me,  however,  as  a  man  having  to 
deal  with  a  world  of  wickedness  and  error,  to  act  as  though  I  did 
not  believe  in  his  repentance. 

"The  hardness  of  the  human  heart  is  incredible;  I  have  seen 
the  most  appalling  examples."  And  the  priest  meditated.  "  He 
is  not  a  common  criminal,  however,"  he  added  profoundly. 

It  was  true.  He  was  a  man  of  illusions,  ministering  to  passions 
that  uplifted  him  above  the  fear  of  consequences.  Young  as  I  was, 
I  understood  that,  too.  There  was  no  safety  for  us  in  Cuba  while 
he  lived.     Father  Antonio  nodded  dismally. 

"  Where  to  go?  "  I  asked.  "  Where  to  turn?  Whom  can  we 
trust?  In  whom  can  we  repose  the  slightest  confidence?  Where 
can  we  look  for  hope?  " 

Again  the  padre  pointed  to  the  sea.  The  hopeless  aspect  of  its 
moonlit  and  darkling  calm  struck  me  so  forcibly  that  I  did  not 
even  ask  how  he  proposed  to  get  us  out  there.  I  only  made  a 
gesture  of  discouragement.  Outside  the  Casa,  my  life  was  not 
worth  ten  minutes'  purchase.  And  how  could  I  risk  her  there? 
How  could  I  propose  to  her  to  follow  me  to  an  almost  certain 
death?  What  could  be  the  issue  of  such  an  adventure?  How 
could  we  hope  to  devise  such  secret  means  of  getting  away  as 
would  prevent  the  Lugarenos  pursuing  us?  I  should  perish,  then, 
and  she   .   .   . 

Father  Antonio  seemed  to  lose  his  self-control  suddenly. 

"  Yes,"  he  cried.  "  The  sea  is  a  perfidious  element,  but  what 
is  it  to  the  blind  malevolence  of  men?  "  He  gripped  my  shoulder. 
"  The  risk  to  her  life,"  he  cried;  "  the  risk  of  drowning,  of  hunger, 
of  thirst — ithat  is  all  the  sea  can  do.  I  do  not  think  of  that.  I 
love  her  too  much.  She  is  my  very  own  spiritual  child ;  and  I  tell 
you,  senor,  that  the  unholy  intrigue  of  that  man  endangers  not 


PART  THIRD  185 

her  happiness,  not  her  fortune  alone — it  endangers  her  innocent 
soul  itself." 

A  profound  silence  ensued.  I  remembered  that  his  business  was 
to  save  souls.  This  old  man  loved  that  young  girl  whom  he  had 
watched  growing  up,  defenseless  in  her  own  home;  he  loved  her 
with  a  great  strength  of  paternal  instinct  that  no  vow  of  celibacy- 
can  extinguish,  and  with  a  heroic  sense  of  his  priestly  duty.  And 
I  was  not  to  say  him  nay.  The  sea — so  be  it.  It  was  easier  to 
think  of  her  dead  than  to  think  of  her  immured;  it  was  better  that 
she  should  be  the  victim  of  the  sea  than  of  evil  men ;  that  she  should 
be  lost  with  me  than  to  me. 

Father  Antonio,  with  that  naive  sense  of  the  poetry  of  the  sky 
be  possessed,  apostrophized  the  moon,  the  "  gentle  orb,"  as  he 
called  it,  which  ought  to  be  weary  of  looking  at  the  miseries  of  the 
earth.  His  immense  shadow  on  the  leads  seemed  to  fling  two  vast 
fists  over  the  parapet,  as  if  to  strike  at  the  enemies  below,  and 
without  discussing  any  specific  plan  we  descended.  It  was  under- 
stood that  Seraphina  and  I  should  try  to  escape — I  won't  say  by 
sea,  but  to  the  sea.  At  best,  to  ask  the  charitable  help  of  some 
passing  ship,  at  worst  to  go  out  of  the  world  together. 

I  had  her  confidence.  I  will  not  tell  of  my  interview  with  her ; 
but  I  shall  never  forget  my  sensations  of  awe,  as  if  entering  a 
temple,  the  melancholy  and  soothing  intimacy  of  our  meeting,  the 
dimly  lit  loftiness  of  the  room,  the  vague  form  of  La  Chica  in  the 
background,  and  the  frail,  girlish  figure  in  black  with  a  very  pale, 
delicate  face.  Father  Antonio  was  the  only  other  person  present, 
and  chided  her  for  giving  way  to  grief.  "  It  is  like  rebellion — 
like  rebellion,"  he  denounced,  turning  away  his  head  to  wipe  a 
tear  hastily;  and  I  wondered  and  thanked  God  that  I  should  be 
a  comfort  to  that  tender  young  girl,  whose  lot  on  earth  had  been 
difficult,  whose  sorrow  was  great  but  could  not  overwhelm  her 
indomitable  spirit,  which  held  a  promise  of  sweetness  and  love. 

Her  courage  was  manifest  to  me  in  the  gentle  and  sad  tones  of 
her  voice.  I  made  her  sit  in  a  vast  armchair  of  tapestry,  in  which 
she  looked  lost  like  a  little  child,  and  I  took  a  stool  at  her  feet. 
This  is  an  unforgetable  hour  in  my  life  in  which  not  a  word  of  love 
was  spoken,  which  is  not  to  be  written  of.  The  burly  shadow  of 
the  priest  lay  motionless  from  the  window  right  across  the  room; 


1 86  ROMANCE 

the  flickering  flame  of  a  silver  lamp  made  an  unsteady  white  circle 
of  light  on  the  lofty  ceiling  above  her  head.  A  clock  was  beating 
gravely  somewhere  in  the  distant  gloom,  like  the  unperturbed 
heart  of  that  silence,  in  which  our  understanding  of  each  other  was 
growing,  even  into  a  strength  fit  to  withstand  every  tempest. 

"  Escape  by  the  sea,"  I  said  aloud.  "  It  would  be,  at  least, 
like  two  lovers  leaping  hand  in  hand  off  a  high  rock,  and  nothing 
else." 

Father  Antonio's  bass  voice  spoke  behind  us. 

"  It  is  better  to  jeopardize  the  sinful  body  that  returns  to  the 
dust  of  which  it  is  made  than  the  redeemed  soul,  whose  awful  lot 
is  eternity.    Reflect." 

Seraphina  hung  her  head,  but  her  hand  did  not  tremble  in  mine. 

"  My  daughter,"  the  old  man  continued,  "  you  have  to  confide 
your  fate  to  a  noble  youth  of  elevated  sentiments,  and  of  a  truly 
chivalrous  heart.   .   .   ." 

"  I  trust  him,"  said  Seraphina. 

And,  as  I  heard  her  say  this,  it  seemed  really  to  me  as  if,  in  very 
truth,  my  sentiments  were  noble  and  my  heart  chivalrous.  Such 
is  the  power  of  a  girl's  voice.  The  door  closed  on  us,  and  I  felt 
very  humble. 

But  in  the  gallery  Father  Antonio  leaned  heavily  on  my 
shoulder. 

"  I  shall  be  a  lonely  old  man,"  he  whispered  faintly.  "  After 
all  these  years!  Two  great  nobles;  the  end  of  a  great  house — 
a  child  I  had  seen  grow  up.  .  .  .  But  I  am  less  afraid  for  her 
now." 

I  shall  not  relate  all  the  plans  we  made  and  rejected.  Every- 
thing seemed  impossible.  We  knew  from  Castro  that  O'Brien  had 
gone  to  Havana,  either  to  take  the  news  of  Don  Balthasar's  death 
himself,  or  else  to  prevent  the  news  spreading  there  too  soon. 
Whatever  his  motive  for  leaving  Rio  Medio,  he  had  left  orders 
that  the  house  should  be  respected  under  the  most  awful  penalties, 
and  that  it  should  be  watched  so  that  no  one  left  it.  The  English- 
man was  to  be  killed  at  sight.  Not  a  hair  on  anybody  else's  head 
was  to  be  touched. 

To  escape  seemed  impossible;  then  on  the  third  day  the  thing 
came  to  pass.    The  way  was  found.    Castro,  who  served  me  as  if 


PART  THIRD  187 

Carlos'  soul  had  passed  into  my  body,  but  looked  at  me  with  a 
saturnine  disdain,  had  arranged  it  all  with  Father  Antonio. 

It  was  the  day  of  the  burial  of  Carlos  and  Don  Balthasar.  That 
same  day  Castro  had  heard  that  a  ship  had  been  seen  becalmed 
a  long  way  out  to  sea.  It  was  a  great  opportunity;  and  the  funeral 
procession  would  give  the  occasion  for  my  escape.  There  was  in 
Rio  Medio,  as  in  all  Spanish  towns  amongst  the  respectable  part  of 
the  population,  a  confraternity  for  burying  the  dead,  "  The 
Brothers  of  Pity,"  who,  clothed  in  black  robes  and  cowls,  with 
only  two  holes  for  the  eyes,  carried  the  dead  to  their  resting-place, 
unrecognizable  and  unrecognized  in  that  pious  work.  A  "  Brother 
of  Pity  "  dress  would  be  brought  for  me  into  Father  Antonio's 
room.  Castro  was  confident  as  to  his  ability  of  getting  a  boat.  It 
would  be  a  very  small  and  dangerous  one,  but  what  would  I  have, 
if  I  neither  killed  my  enemy,  nor  let  anyone  else  kill  him  for  me, 
he  commented  with  somber  sarcasm. 

A  truce  of  God  had  been  called,  and  the  burial  was  to  take  place 
in  the  evening,  when  the  mortal  remains  of  the  last  of  the  Riegos 
would  be  laid  in  the  vault  of  the  cathedral  of  what  had  been  known 
as  their  own  province,  and  had,  in  fact,  been  so  foi  a  time  under  a 
grant  from  Charles  V. 

Early  in  the  day  I  had  a  short  interview  with  Seraphina.  She 
was  resolute.  Then,  long  before  dark,  I  slipped  into  Father  An- 
tonio's room,  where  I  was  to  stay  until  the  moment  to  come  out 
and  mingle  with  the  throng  of  other  Brothers  of  Pity.  Once  with 
the  bodies  in  the  crypt  of  the  cathedral,  I  was  to  await  Seraphina 
there,  and,  together,  we  should  slip  through  a  side  door  on  to  the 
shore.  Cesar,  to  throw  any  observer  off  the  scent  (three  Lugarenos 
were  to  be  admitted  to  see  the  bodies  put  in  their  coffins),  posted 
two  of  the  RIego  negroes  with  loaded  muskets  on  guard  before  the 
door  of  my  empty  room,  as  if  to  protect  me. 

Then,  just  as  dusk  fell,  Father  Antonio,  who  had  been  praying 
silently  in  a  corner,  got  up,  blew  his  nose,  sighed,  and  suddenly 
enfolded  me  in  his  powerful  arms  for  an  instant. 

"  I  am  an  old  man — a  poor  priest,"  he  whispered  jerkily  into 
my  ear,  "  and  the  sea  is  very  perfidious.  And  yet  it  favors  the 
sons  of  your  nation.  But,  remember — the  child  has  no  one  but 
you.    Spare  her." 


i88  ROMANCE 

He  went  off;  stopped.  "Inscrutable!  inscrutable!"  he  mur- 
mured, lifting  upwards  his  eyes.  He  raised  his  hand  with  a  solemn 
slowness.  "  An  old  man's  blessing  can  do  no  harm,"  he  said 
humbl}^  I  bowed  my  head.  My  heart  was  too  full  for  speech, 
and  the  door  closed.  I  never  saw  him  again,  except  later  on  in  his 
surplice  for  a  moment  at  the  gate,  his  great  bass  voice  distinct  in  the 
chanting  of  the  priests  conducting  the  bodies. 

The  Lugarenos  would  respect  the  truce  arranged  by  the  bishop. 

No  man  of  them  but  the  three  had  entered  the  Casa.  Already, 
early  in  the  night,  their  black-haired  women,  with  coarse  faces  and 
melancholy  eyes,  were  kneeling  in  rows  under  the  black  mantillas 
on  the  stone  floor  of  the  cathedral,  praying  for  the  repose  of  the 
soul  of  Seraphina's  father,  of  that  old  man  who  had  lived  among 
them,  unapproachable,  almost  invisible,  and  as  if  infinitely  re- 
moved. They  had  venerated  him,  and  many  of  them  had  never 
set  eyes  on  his  person. 

It  strikes  me,  now,  as  strange  and  significant  of  a  mysterious 
human  need,  the  need  to  look  upwards  towards  a  superiority  inex- 
pressibly remote,  the  need  of  something  to  idealize  in  life.  They 
had  only  that  and,  maybe,  a  sort  of  love  as  idealized  and  as  personal 
for  the  mother  of  God,  whom,  also,  they  had  never  seen,  to  whom 
they  trusted  to  save  them  from  a  devil  as  real.  And  they  had, 
moreover,  a  fear  even  more  real  of  O'Brien. 

And,  when  one  comes  to  think  of  it,  in  putting  on  the  long  spec- 
tacled robe  of  a  Brother  of  Pity,  in  walking  before  the  staggering 
bearers  of  the  great  coffin  with  a  tall  crucifix  in  my  hand,  in  thus 
taking  advantage  of  their  truce  of  God,  I  was,  also,  taking  ad- 
vantage of  what  was  undoubtedly  their  honor — a  thing  that  handi- 
capped them  quite  as  much  as  had  mine  when  I  found  myself 
unable  to  strike  down  O'Brieno  At  that  time,  I  was  a  great  deal 
too  excited  to  consider  this,  however.  I  had  many  things  to  think 
of,  and  the  immense  necessity  of  keeping  a  cool  head. 

It  was,  after  all,  Tomas  Castro  to  whom  all  the  credit  of  the 
thing  belonged.  Just  after  it  had  fallen  very  dark,  he  brought  me 
the  black  robes,  a  pair  of  heavy  pistols  to  gird  on  under  them,  and 
the  heavy  staff  topped  by  a  crucifix.  He  had  an  air  of  sarcastic 
protest  in  the  dim  light  of  my  room,  and  he  explained  wnth  exag- 
geratedly plain  words  precisely  what  I  was  to  do — which,  as  a 


PART  THIRD  189 

matter  of  fact,  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  merely  following  in 
his  own  footsteps. 

"  And,  oh,  sefior,"  he  said  sardonically,  "  if  you  desire  again  to 
pillow  your  head  upon  the  breast  of  your  mother;  if  you  w^ould 
again  see  your  sister,  who,  alas !  by  bewitching  my  Carlos,  is  at  the 
heart  of  all  our  troubles ;  if  you  desire  again  to  see  that  dismal  land 
of  yours,  which  politeness  forbids  me  to  curse,  I  would  beg  of  you 
not  to  let  the  mad  fury  of  your  nation  break  loose  in  the  midst  of 
these  thieves  and  scoundrels." 

He  peered  intently  into  the  spectacled  eyeholes  of  my  cowl,  and 
laid  his  hand  on  his  sword-hilt.  His  small  figure,  tightly  clothed 
in  black  velvet  from  chin  to  knee,  swayed  gently  backwards  and 
forw^ards  in  the  light  of  the  dim  candle,  and  his  grotesque  shadow 
flitted  over  the  ghostly  walls  of  the  great  room.  He  stood  gazing 
silently  for  a  minute,  then  turned  smartly  on  his  heels,  and,  with  a 
gesture  of  sardonic  respect,  threw  open  the  door  for  me. 

"  Pray,  seiior,"  he  said,  "  that  the  moon  may  not  rise  too 
soon." 

We  went  swTftly  down  the  colonnades  for  the  last  time,  in  the 
pitch  darkness  and  into  the  blackness  of  the  vast  archway.  The 
clumping  staff  of  my  heavy  crucifix  drew  hollow  echoes  from  the 
flagstones.  In  the  deep  sort  of  cave  behind  us,  lit  by  a  dim  lanthorn, 
the  negroes  waited  to  unbar  the  doors.  Castro  himself  began  to 
mutter  over  his  beads.    Suddenly  he  said : 

"  It  is  the  last  time  I  shall  stand  here.  Now,  there  is  not  any 
more  a  place  for  me  on  the  earth." 

Great  flashes  of  light  began  to  make  suddenly  visible  the  tall 
pillars  of  the  immense  mournful  place,  and  after  a  long  time,  abso- 
lutely without  a  sound,  save  the  sputter  of  enormous  torches,  an 
incredibly  ghostly  body  of  figures,  black-robed  from  head  to  foot, 
with  large  eyeholes  peering  fantastically,  swayed  into  the  great  arch 
of  the  hall.  Above  them  was  the  enormous  black  coffin.  It  was 
a  sight  so  appalling  and  unexpected  that  I  stood  gazing  at  them 
without  any  power  to  move,  until  I  remembered  that  I,  too,  was 
such  a  figure.  And  then,  with  an  ejaculation  of  impatience,  Tomas 
Castro  caught  at  my  hand,  and  whirled  me  round. 

The  great  doors  had  swung  noiselessly  open,  and  the  black  night, 
bespangled  with  little  flames,  was  framed  in  front  of  me.     He  sud- 


190  ROMANCE 

denly  unsheathed  his  portentous  sword,  and,  hanging  his  great 
hat  upon  his  maimed  arm,  stalked,  a  pathetic  and  sinister  figure 
of  grief,  down  the  great  steps.  I  followed  him  in  the  vivid  and 
extraordinary  compulsion  of  the  sinister  body  that,  like  one  fabu- 
lous and  enormous  monster,  swayed  impenetrably  after  me.      ^ 

My  heart  beat  till  my  head  was  in  a  tumultuous  whirl,  when 
thus,  at  last,  I  stepped  out  of  that  house — but  I  suppose  my  grim 
robes  cloaked  my  emotions — though,  seeing  very  clearly  through 
the  eyeholes,  it  was  almost  incredible  to  me  that  I  was  not  myself 
seen.  But  these  Brothers  of  Pity  were  a  secret  society,  known  to 
no  man  except  their  spiritual  head,  who  chose  them  in  turn,  and 
not  knovuing  even  each  other.  Their  good  deeds  of  charity  were, 
in  that  way,  done  by  pure  stealth.  And  it  happened  that  their 
spiritual  director  w^as  the  Father  Antonio  himself.  At  the  foot  of 
the  palace  steps,  drawn  back  out  of  our  way,  stood  the  great  glass 
coach  of  state,  containing,  even  then,  the  woman  who  was  all  the 
world  to  me,  invisible  to  me,  unattainable  to  me,  not  to  be  com- 
forted by  me,  even  as  her  great  griefs  were  to  me  invisible  and 
unassuageable.  And  there  between  us,  in  the  great  coffin,  held  on 
high  by  the  grim,  shadowy  beings,  was  all  that  she  loved,  invisible, 
unattainable,  too,  and  beyond  all  human  comfort.  Standing  there, 
in  the  midst  of  the  whispering,  bare-headed,  kneeling,  and  villainous 
crowd,  I  had  a  vivid  vision  of  her  pale,  dim,  pitiful  face.  Ah,  poor 
thing!  she  was  going  away  for  good  from  all  that  state,  from  all 
that  seclusion,  from  all  that  peace,  mutely,  and  with  a  noble  pride 
of  quietness,  into  a  world  of  dangers,  with  no  head  but  mine  to 
think  for  her,  no  arm  but  mine  to  ward  off  all  the  great  terrors, 
the  immense  and  dangerous  weight  of  a  new  world. 

In  the  twinkle  of  innumerable  candles,  the  priceless  harness  of 
the  white  mules,  waiting  to  draw  the  great  coach  after  us,  shone 
like  streaks  of  ore  in  an  infinitely  rich  silver  mine.  A  double  line 
of  tapers  kept  the  road  to  the  cathedral,  and  a  crowd  of  our  negroes, 
the  bell  muzzles  of  their  guns  suggested  in  the  twinkling  light, 
massed  themselves  round  the  coach.  Outside  the  lines  were  the 
crowd  of  rapscallions  in  red  jackets,  their  women  and  children — 
all  the  population  of  the  Aldea  Bajo,  groaning.  The  whole  crowd 
got  into  motion  round  us,  the  white  mules  plunging  frantically, 
the  coach  swaying.    Ahead  of  me  marched  the  sardonic,  gallantly 


Standing  there^  in  the  niuist  of  the  ivhispenng^  bure-ljeaihd^ 

kneeling^  and  villainous  croivd^  I  had  a  vivid  vision 

of  her  pale^  dim^  pitiful  face 


PART  THIRD  191 

grotesque  figure  of  true  Tomas,  his  sword  point  up,  his  motions 
always  jaunty.  Ahead  of  him,  again,  were  the  white  robes  of  many 
priests,  a  cluster  of  tall  candles,  a  great  jeweled  cross,  and  a  tall 
saint's  figure  swaying,  more  than  shoulder  high,  and  disappearing 
up  above  into  the  darkness.  For  me,  under  my  cowl,  it  was  suffo- 
catingly hot;  but  I  seemed  to  move  forward,  following,  swept 
along  without  any  volition  of  my  own.  It  appeared  an  immensely 
long  journey;  and  then,  as  we  went  at  last  up  the  cathedral  steps, 
a  voice  cried  harshly,  "  Death  to  the  heretic  !"  My  heart  stood 
still.  I  clutched  frantically  at  the  handle  of  a  pistol  that  I  could 
not  disengage  from  folds  of  black  cloth.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  cry  was  purely  a  general  one ;  I  was  supposed  to  be  shut  up  in 
the  palace  still. 

The  sudden  glow,  the  hush,  the  warm  breath  of  incense,  and 
the  blaze  of  light  turned  me  suddenly  faint;  my  ears  buzzed,  and 
I  heard  strange  sounds. 

The  cathedral  was  a  mass  of  heads.  Everyone  in  Rio  Medio 
was  present,  or  came  trooping  in  behind  us.  The  better  class  was 
clustered  near  the  blaze  of  gilding,  mottled  marble,  wax  flowers, 
and  black  and  purple  drapery  that  vaulted  over  the  two  black 
cofRns  in  the  choir.  Down  in  the  unlit  body  of  the  church  the 
riffraff  of  O'Brien  kept  the  doors. 

I  followed  the  silent  figure  of  Tomas  Castro  to  the  bishop's  own 
stall,  right  up  in  the  choir,  and  we  became  hidden  from  the  rest 
by  the  forest  of  candles  round  the  catafalque.  Up  the  center  of 
the  great  church,  and  high  over  the  heads  of  the  kneeling  people, 
came  the  great  coffin,  swaying,  its  bearers  robbed  of  half  their 
grimness  by  the  blaze  of  lights.  Tomas  Castro  suddenly  caught 
at  my  sleeve  whilst  they  were  letting  the  coifin  down  on  to  the 
bier.  He  drew  me  unnoticed  into  the  shadow  behind  the  bishop's 
stall.  In  the  swift  transit,  I  had  a  momentary  glance  of  a  small, 
black  figure,  infinitely  tiny  in  that  quiet  place,  and  infinitely  soli- 
tary, veiled  in  black  from  head  to  foot,  coming  alone  up  the  center 
of  the  nave. 

I  stood  hidden  there  beside  the  bishop's  stall  for  a  long  time, 
and  then  suddenly  I  saw  the  black  figure  alone  in  the  gallery,  look- 
ing down  upon  me — from  the  loggia  of  the  Riegos.  I  felt  sud- 
denly an  immense  calm;  she  was  looking  at  me  with  unseeing  eyes. 


192  ROMANCE 

but  I  knew  and  felt  that  she  would  follow  me  now  to  the  end  of 
the  world.  I  had  no  more  any  doubts  as  to  the  issue  of  our  enter- 
prise; it  was  open  to  no  unsuccess  with  a  figure  so  steadfast  engaged 
in  it;  it  was  impossible  that  blind  fate  should  be  insensible  to 
her  charm,  impossible  that  any  man  could  strike  at  or  thwart 
her. 

Monks  began  to  sing;  a  great  brass  instrument  grunted  lamen- 
tably; in  the  body  of  the  building  there  was  silence.  The  bishop 
and  his  supporters  moved  about,  as  if  aimlessly,  in  front  of  the 
altar ;  the  chains  of  the  gold  censors  clicked  ceaselessly.  Seraphina's 
head  had  sunk  forward  out  of  my  sight.  All  the  heads  of  the 
cathedral  bowed  down,  and  suddenly,  from  round  the  side  of  the 
stall,  a  hand  touched  mine,  and  a  voice  said,  "  It  is  time."  Very 
softly,  as  if  it  were  part  of  the  rite,  I  was  drawn  round  the  stall 
through  a  door  in  the  side  of  the  screen.  As  we  went  out,  in  his 
turnings,  the  old  bishop  gave  us  the  benediction.  Then  the  door 
closed  on  the  glory  of  his  robes,  and  in  a  minute,  in  the  darkness 
we  were  rustling  down  a  circular  narrow  staircase  into  the  dimness 
of  a  crypt,  lit  by  the  little  blue  flame  of  an  oil  lamp.  From  above 
came  sounds  like  thunder,  immense,  vibrating;  we  were  imme- 
diately under  the  choir.  Through  the  cracks  round  a  large  stone 
showed  a  parallelogram  of  light. 

In  the  dimness  I  had  a  glimpse  of  the  face  of  my  conductor — a 
thin,  wonderfully  hollow-checked  lay  brother.  He  began,  with 
great  gentleness,  to  assist  me  out  of  my  black  robes,  and  then  he 
said : 

"  The  senorita  will  be  here  very  soon  with  the  Seiior  Tomas," 
and  then  added,  with  an  infinitely  sad  and  tender,  dim  smile: 

"  Will  not  the  Senor  Caballero,  if  it  is  not  repugnant,  say  a 
prayer  for  the  repose  of  .  .  ."  He  pointed  gently  upwards  to 
the  great  flagstone  above  which  was  the  cofl'in  of  Don  Balthasar 
and  Carlos.  The  priest  himself  was  one  of  those  very  holy,  very 
touching — perhaps,  very  stupid — men  that  one  finds  in  such  places. 
With  his  dim,  wistful  face  he  is  very  present  in  my  memory.  He 
added :  "  And  that  the  good  God  of  us  all  may  keep  it  in  the 
Senor  Caballero's  heart  to  care  well  for  the  soul  of  the  dear 
senorita." 

"  I  am  a  very  old  man,"  he  whispered,  after  a  pause.     He  was 


PART  THIRD  193 

indeed  an  old  man,  quite  worn  out,  quite  without  hope  on  earth. 
"  I  have  loved  the  senorita  since  she  was  a  child.  The  Senor 
Caballero  takes  her  from  us.  I  would  have  him  pray — to  be  made 
worth}'." 

Whilst  I  was  doing  it,  the  place  began  to  be  alive  with  whispers 
of  garments,  of  hushed  footsteps,  a  small  exclamation  in  a  gruff 
voice.  Then  the  stone  above  moved  out  of  its  place,  and  a  blaze 
of  light  fell  down  from  the  choir  above. 

I  saw  beside  me  Seraphina's  face,  brilliantly  lit,  looking  upwards. 
Tomas  Castro  said : 

"  Come  quickly  .  .  .  come  quickly  .  .  .  the  prayers  are  ending ; 
there  will  be  people  in  the  street."  And  from  above  an  enormous 
voice  intoned : 

"Tm  .  .  u  .  .  ba  mi  .  .  i  .  .  i  .  .  irum  .  .  ."  And  the 
serpent  groaned  discordantly.  The  end  of  a  great  box  covered 
with  black  velvet  glided  forward  above  our  heads;  ropes  were 
fastened  round  it.  The  priest  had  opened  a  door  in  the  shadowy 
distance,  beside  a  white  marble  tablet  in  the  thick  walls.  The 
coffin  up  above  moved  forward  a  little  again ;  the  ropes  were  re- 
adjusted with  a  rattling,  wooden  sound.  A  dry,  formal  voice  in- 
toned from  above: 

"  Erit   .    .   Justus   .    .   Ab   .    .    .   auditione   .   .   ." 

From  the  open  door  the  priest  rattled  his  keys,  and  said,  "  Come, 
come,"  impatiently. 

I  was  horribly  afraid  that  Seraphina  would  shriek  or  faint,  or 
refuse  to  move.  There  was  very  little  time.  The  pirates  might 
stream  out  of  the  front  of  the  cathedral  as  we  came  from  the  back ; 
the  bishop  had  promised  to  accentuate  the  length  of  the  service, 
But  Seraphina  glided  towards  the  open  door;  a  breath  of  fresh  air 
reached  us.  She  looked  back  once.  The  coffin  was  swinging  right 
over  the  hole,  shutting  out  the  light.  Tomas  Castro  took  her 
hand  and  said,  "  Come   .   .   .  come,"  with  infinite  tenderness. 

He  had  been  sobbing  convulsively.  We  went  up  some 
steps,  and  the  door  shut  behind  us  with  a  sound  like  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

We  went  very  fast,  in  perfect  blackness  and  solitude,  on  the 
deserted  beach  between  the  old  town  and  the  village.  Every  soul 
was  near  the  cathedral.    A  boat  lay  half  afloat.    To  the  left  in  the 


194  ROMANCE 

distance  the  light  of  the  schooner  opposite  the  Casa  Riego  wavered 

on  the  still  water. 

Suddenly  Tomas  Castro  said : 

"  The  senorita  never  before  set  foot  to  the  open  ground." 

At  once  I  lifted  her  into  the  boat.    "  Shove  off,  Tomas,"  I  said, 

with  a  beating  heart. 


PART  FOURTH 

BLADE  AND  GUITAR 

CHAPTER  I 


I 


"^  HERE  was  a  slight,  almost  imperceptible  jar,  a  faint 
grating  noise,  a  whispering  sound  of  sand — and  the  boat, 
without  a  splash,  floated. 

The  earth,  slipping  as  it  were  away  from  under  the  keel,  left  us 
borne  upon  the  waters  of  the  bay,  which  were  as  still  as  the  windless 
night  itself.  The  pushing  off  of  that  boat  was  like  a  launching 
into  space,  as  a  bird  opens  its  wings  on  the  brow  of  a  cliff,  and 
remains  poised  in  the  air.  A  sense  of  freedom  came  to  me,  the  un- 
reasonable feeling  of  exultation — as  if  I  had  been  really  a  bird 
essaying  its  flight  for  the  first  time.  Everything,  sudden  and  evil 
and  most  fortunate,  had  been  arranged  for  me,  as  though  I  had 
been  a  lay  figure  on  which  Romance  had  been  wreaking  its  be- 
wildering unexpectedness;  but  with  the  floating  clear  of  the  boat, 
I  felt  somehow  that  this  escape  I  had  to  manage  myself. 

It  was  dark.  Dipping  cautiously  the  blade  of  the  oar,  I  gave 
another  push  against  the  shelving  shore.  Seraphina  sat,  cloaked 
and  motionless,  and  Tomas  Castro,  in  the  bows,  made  no  sound. 
I  didn't  even  hear  him  breathe.  Everything  was  left  to  me.  The 
boat,  impelled  afresh,  made  a  slight  ripple,  and  my  elation  was  re- 
placed in  a  moment  by  all  the  torments  of  the  most  acute  anxiety. 

I  gave  another  push,  and  then  lost  the  bottom.  Success  depended 
upon  my  resource,  readiness,  and  courage.  And  what  was  this 
success?  Immediately,  it  meant  getting  out  of  the  bay,  and  into 
the  open  sea  in  a  twelve-foot  dingey  looted  from  some  ship  years 
ago  by  the  Rio  Medio  pirates,  if  that  miserable  population  of  sordid 
and  ragged  outcasts  of  the  Antilles  deserved  such  a  romantic  name. 
They  were  sea-thieves. 

Already  the  wooded  shoulder  of  a  mountain  was  thrown  out 

195 


196  ROMANCE 

intensely  black  by  the  glow  in  the  sky  behind.  The  moon  was 
about  to  rise.  A  great  anguish  took  my  heart  as  if  in  a  vice.  The 
stillness  of  the  dark  shore  struck  me  as  unnatural.  I  imagined 
the  yell  of  the  discovery  breaking  it,  and  the  fancy  caused  me  a 
greater  emotion  than  the  thing  itself,  I  flatter  myself,  could  pos- 
sibly have  done.  The  unusual  silence  in  which,  through  the  open 
portals,  the  altar  of  the  cathedral  alone  blazed  with  many  flames 
upon  the  bay,  seemed  to  enter  my  very  heart  violently,  like  a  sudden 
access  of  anguish.  The  two  in  the  boat  with  me  were  silent,  too. 
I  could  not  bear  it. 

"  Seraphina,"  I  murmured,  and  heard  a  stifled  sob. 

"  It  is  time  to  take  the  oars,  serior,"  whispered  Castro  suddenly, 
as  though  he  had  fallen  asleep  as  soon  as  he  had  scrambled  into 
the  bows,  and  only  had  awaked  that  instant.  "  The  mists  in  the 
middle  of  the  bay  will  hide  us  when  the  moon  rises." 

It  was  time — if  we  were  to  escape.  Escape  where?  Into  th^ 
open  sea?  With  that  silent,  sorrowing  girl  by  my  side!  In  this 
miserable  cockleshell,  and  without  any  refuge  open  to  us?  It  was 
not  really  a  hesitation;  she  could  not  be  left  at  the  mercy  of 
O'Brien.  It  was  as  though  I  had  for  the  first  time  perceived  how 
vast  the  world  was;  how  dangerous;  how  unsafe.  And  there  was 
no  alternative.    There  could  be  no  going  back. 

Perhaps,  if  I  had  known  what  was  before  us,  my  heart  would  have 
failed  me  utterly  out  of  sheer  pity.  Suddenly  my  eyes  caught  sight 
of  the  moon  making  like  the  glow  of  a  bush  fire  on  the  black  slope 
of  the  mountain.  In  a  moment  it  would  flood  the  bay  with  light, 
and  the  schooner  anchored  off  the  beach  before  the  Casa  Riego  was 
not  eighty  yards  away.  I  dipped  my  oar  without  a  splash.  Castro 
pulled  with  his  one  hand. 

The  mists  rising  on  the  lowlands  never  filled  the  bay,  and  I  could 
see  them  lying  in  moonlight  across  the  outlet  like  a  silvery  white 
ghost  of  a  wall.  We  penetrated  it,  and  instantly  became  lost  to 
view  from  the  shore. 

Castro,  pulling  quickly,  turned  his  head,  and  grunted  at  a  red 
blur  very  low  in  the  mist.  A  fire  was  burning  on  the  low  point 
of  land  where  Nichols — the  Nova  Scotian — had  planted  the  bat- 
tery which  had  worked  such  havoc  with  Admiral  Rowley's  boats. 
It  was  a  mere  earthwork,  and  some  of  the  guns  had  been  removed. 


PART  FOURTH  197 

The  fire,  however,  warned  us  that  there  were  some  people  on  the 
point.  We  ceased  rowing  for  a  moment,  and  Castro  explained  to 
me  that  a  fire  was  always  lit  when  any  of  these  thieves'  boats  were 
stirring.  There  would  be  three  or  four  men  to  keep  it  up.  On 
this  very  night  Manuel-del-Popolo  was  outside  with  a  good  many 
rowboats,  waiting  on  the  Indiaman.  The  ship  had  been  seen  near- 
ing  the  shore  since  noon.  She  was  becalmed  now.  Perhaps  they 
were  looting  her  already. 

This  fact  had  so  far  favored  our  escape.  There  had  been  no 
strollers  on  the  beach  that  night.  Since  the  investment  of  the  Casa 
Riego,  Castro  had  lived  amongst  the  besiegers  on  his  prestige  of  a 
superior  person,  of  a  caballero  skilled  in  war  and  diplomacy.  No 
one  knew  how  much  the  tubby,  saturnine  little  man  was  in  the 
confidence  of  the  Juez  O'Brien;  and  there  was  no  doubt  that  he 
was  a  good  Catholic.  He  was  a  very  grave,  a  very  silent  caballero. 
In  reality  his  heart  had  been  broken  by  the  death  of  Carlos,  and  he 
did  not  care  what  happened  to  him.  His  action  was  actuated  by 
his  scorn  and  hate  of  the  Rio  Medio  population,  rather  than  by 
any  friendly  feeling  towards  m3^self. 

On  that  night  Domingo's  partisans  were  watching  the  Casa 
Riego,  while  Manuel  (who  was  more  of  a  seaman)  had  taken  most 
of  his  personal  friends,  and  all  the  larger  boats  that  would  float, 
to  do  a  bit  of  "  outside  work,"  as  they  called  it,  upon  the  becalmed 
West  Indiaman. 

This  had  facilitated  Castro's  plan,  and  it  also  accounted  for  the 
smallness  of  the  boat,  which  was  the  only  one  of  the  refuse  lot  left 
on  the  beach  that  did  not  gape  at  every  seam.  She  was  not  tight 
by  any  means,  though.  I  could  hear  the  water  washing  above  the 
bottom-boards,  and  I  remember  how  concern  about  keeping  Sera- 
phina's  feet  dry  mingled  with  the  grave  apprehensions  of  our  enter- 
prise. 

We  had  been  paddling  an  easy  stroke.  The  red  blur  of  the 
fire  on  the  point  was  growing  larger,  while  the  diminished  blaze 
of  lights  on  the  high  altar  of  the  cathedral  pierced  the  mist  with 
an  orange  ray. 

"  The  boat  should  be  bailed  out,"  I  remarked  in  a  whisper, 

Castro  laid  his  oar  in  and  made  his  way  to  the  thwart.  It  shows 
how  well  we  were  prepared  for  our  flight,  that  there  was  not  even 


198  ROMANCE 

a  half-cocoanut  shell  in  the  boat.  A  gallon  earthenware  jar,  stop- 
pered with  a  bunch  of  grass,  contained  all  our  provision  of  fresh 
water.  Castro  displaced  it,  and,  bending  low,  tried  to  bale  with 
his  big,  soft  hat.  I  should  imagine  that  he  found  it  impracticable, 
because,  suddenly,  he  tore  off  one  of  his  square-toed  shoes  with  a 
steel  buckle.  He  used  it  as  a  scoop,  blaspheming  at  the  necessity, 
but  in  a  very  low  mutter,  out  of  respect  for  Seraphina. 

Standing  up  in  the  stern-sheets  by  her  side,  I  kept  on  sculling 
gently.  Once  before  I  had  gone  desperately  to  sea — escaping  the 
gallows,  perhaps — in  a  very  small  boat,  with  the  drunken  song  of 
Rangsley's  uncle  heralding  the  fascination  of  the  unknown  to  a 
very  callow  youth.  That  night  had  been  as  dark,  but  the  danger 
had  been  less  great.  The  boat,  it  is  true,  had  actually  sunk  under 
us,  but  then  it  was  only  the  sea  that  might  have  swallowed  me  who 
knew  nothing  of  life,  and  was  as  much  a  stranger  to  fate  as  the 
animals  on  our  farm.  But  now  the  world  of  men  stood  ready  to 
devour  us,  and  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  was  of  no  more  account  than 
a  puddle  on  a  road  infested  by  robbers.  What  were  the  dangers 
of  the  sea  to  the  passions  amongst  which  I  was  launched — with  my 
high  fortunes  in  my  hand,  and,  like  all  those  who  live  and  love, 
with  a  sword  suspended  above  my  head? 

The  danger  had  been  less  great  on  that  old  night,  when  I  had 
heard  behind  me  the  soft  crash  of  the  smugglers'  feet  on  the  shingle. 
It  had  been  less  great,  and,  if  it  had  had  a  touch  of  the  sordid, 
it  had  led  me  to  this  second  and  more  desperate  escape — in  a 
cockleshell,  carrying  off  a  silent  and  cloaked  figure,  which  quick- 
ened my  heart-beats  at  each  look.  I  was  carrying  her  off  from  the 
evil  spells  of  the  Casa  Riego,  as  a  knight  a  princess  from  an  en- 
chanted castle.  But  she  was  more  to  me  than  any  princess  to  any 
knight. 

There  was  never  anything  like  that  in  the  world.  Lovers  might 
have  gone,  in  their  passion,  to  a  certain  death ;  but  never,  it  seemed 
to  me,  in  the  history  of  youth,  had  they  gone  in  such  an  atmosphere 
of  cautious  stillness  upon  such  a  reckless  adventure.  Everything 
depended  upon  slipping  out  through  the  gullet  of  the  bay  without 
a  sound.  The  men  on  the  point  had  no  means  of  pursuit,  but,  if 
they  heard  or  saw  anything,  they  could  shout  a  warning  to  the 
boats  outside.    There  were  the  real  dangers — my  first  concern. 


PART  FOURTH  199 

Afterwards  ...  I  did  not  want  to  think  of  afterwards.  There 
were  only  the  open  sea  and  the  perilous  coast.  Perhaps,  if  I 
thought  of  them,  I  should  give  up. 

I  thought  only  of  gaining  each  successive  moment,  and  concen- 
trated all  my  faculties  into  an  effort  of  stealthiness.  I  handled  the 
boat  with  a  deliberation  full  of  tense  prudence,  as  if  the  oar  had 
been  a  stalk  of  straw,  as  if  the  water  of  the  bay  had  been  the  film 
of  a  glass  bubble  an  unguarded  movement  could  have  shivered  to 
atoms.  I  hardly  breathed,  for  the  feeling  that  a  deeper  breath 
would  have  blown  away  the  mist  that  was  our  sole  protection 
now. 

It  was  not  blown  away.  On  the  contrary,  it  clung  closer  to  us, 
with  the  enveloping  chill  of  a  cloud  wreathing  a  mountain  crag. 
The  vague  shadows  and  dim  outlines  that  had  hung  around  us 
began,  at  last,  to  vanish  utterly  in  an  impenetrable  and  luminous 
whiteness.  And  through  the  jumble  of  my  thoughts  darted  the 
sudden  knowledge  that  there  was  a  sea-fog  outside — a  thing  quite 
different  from  the  nightly  mists  of  the  bay.  It  was  rolling  into  the 
passage  inexplicably,  for  no  stir  of  air  reached  us.  It  was  possible 
to  watch  its  endless  drift  by  the  glow  of  the  fire  on  the  point,  now 
much  nearer  us.  Its  edges  seemed  to  melt  away  in  the  flight  of  the 
water-dust.  It  was  a  sea-fog  coming  in.  Was  it  disastrous  to  us, 
or  favorable?  It,  at  least,  answered  our  immediate  need  for  con- 
cealment, and  this  was  enough  for  me,  when  all  our  future  hung 
upon  every  passing  minute. 

The  Rio  picaroons,  when  engaged  in  thieving  from  some  ship 
becalmed  on  the  coast,  began  by  towing  one  of  their  schooners  as 
far  as  the  entrance.  They  left  her  there  as  a  rallying  point  for 
the  boats,  and  to  receive  the  booty. 

One  of  these  schooners,  as  I  knew,  was  moored  opposite  the  Casa 
Riego.  The  other  might  be  lying  at  anchor  somewhere  right  in 
the  fairway  ahead,  within  a  few  yards.  I  strained  my  ears  for  some 
revealing  sound  from  her,  if  she  were  there — a  cough,  a  voice,  the 
creak  of  a  block,  or  the  fall  of  something  on  her  deck.  Nothing 
came.  I  began  to  fear  lest  I  should  run  stem  on  into  her  side  with- 
out a  moment's  warning.  I  could  see  no  further  than  the  length 
of  our  twelve-foot  boat. 

To  make  certain  of  avoiding  that  danger,  I  decided  to  shave 


200  ROMANCE 

close  the  spit  of  sand  that  tipped  the  narrow  strip  of  lowland  to 
the  south.     I  set  my  teeth,  and  sheered  in  resolutely. 

Castro  remained  on  the  after-thwart,  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees.  His  head  nearly  touched  my  leg.  I  could  distinguish  the 
woeful,  bent  back,  the  broken  swaying  of  the  plume  in  his  hat. 
Seraphina's  perfect  immobility  gave  me  the  measure  of  her  courage, 
and  the  silence  was  so  profoundly  pellucid  that  the  flutter  of  the 
flames  that  we  were  nearing  began  to  come  loud  out  of  the  blur 
of  the  glow.  Then  I  heard  the  very  crackling  of  the  wood,  like 
a  fusillade  from  a  great  distance.  Even  then  Castro  did  not  deign 
to  turn  his  head. 

Such  as  he  was — a  born  vagabond,  contrabandistaj  spy  in  armed 
camps,  sutler  at  the  tail  of  the  Grande  Armee  (escaped,  God  only 
knows  how,  from  the  snows  of  Russia),  beggar,  guerillero,  bandit, 
skeptically  murderous,  draping  his  rags  in  saturnine  dignity — he 
had  ended  by  becoming  the  sinister  and  grotesque  squire  of  our 
quixotic  Carlos.  There  was  something  romantically  somber  in  his 
devotion.  He  disdained  to  turn  round  at  the  danger,  because  he 
had  left  his  heart  on  the  coffin  as  a  lesser  affection  would  have  laid 
a  wreath.  I  looked  down  at  Seraphina.  She,  too,  had  left  a  heart 
in  the  vaults  of  the  cathedral.  The  edge  of  the  heavy  cloak  drawn 
over  her  head  concealed  her  face  from  me,  and,  with  her  face,  her 
ignorance,  her  great  doubts,  her  great  fears. 

I  heard,  above  the  crackling  of  dry  wood,  a  husky  exclamation  of 
surprise,  and  then  a  startled  voice  exclaiming: 

"  Look!     Santissima  Madre!    What  is  this?  " 

Sheer  instinct  altered  at  once  the  motion  of  my  hand  so  as  to 
incline  the  bows  of  the  dingey  away  from  the  shore;  but  a  sort  of 
stupefying  amazement  seized  upon  my  soul.  We  had  been  seen. 
It  was  all  over.    Was  it  possible?    All  over,  already? 

In  my  anxiety  to  keep  clear  of  the  schooner  which,  for  all  I 
know  to  this  day,  may  not  have  been  there  at  all,  I  Iiad  come  too 
close  to  the  sand,  so  close  that  I  heard  soft,  rapid  footfalls  stop 
short  in  the  fog.    A  voice  seemed  to  be  asking  me  in  a  whisper : 

"  Where,  oh,  where?  " 

Another  cried  out  irresistibly,  "  I  see  it." 

It  was  a  subdued  cry,  as  if  hushed  in  sudden  awe. 

My  arm  swung  to  and  fro;  the  turn  of  my  wrist  went  on  im- 


PART  FOURTH  201 

parting  the  propelling  motion  of  the  oar.  All  the  rest  of  my  body 
was  gripped  helplessly  in  the  dead  expectation  of  the  end,  as  if  in 
the  benumbing  seconds  of  a  fall  from  a  towering  height.  And  it 
was  swift,  too.  I  felt  a  draught  at  the  back  of  my  neck — a  breath 
of  wind.  And  instantly,  as  if  a  battering-ram  had  been  let  swing 
past  me  at  many  layers  of  stretched  gauze,  I  beheld,  through  a  tat- 
tered deep  hole  in  the  fog,  a  roaring  vision  of  flames,  borne  down 
and  springing  up  again;  a  dance  of  purple  gleams  on  the  strip  of 
unveiled  water,  and  three  coal-black  figures  in  the  light. 

One  of  them  stood  high  on  lank  black  legs,  with  long  black  arms 
thrown  up  stiffly  above  the  black  shape  of  a  hat.  The  two  others 
crouched  low  on  the  very  edge  of  the  water,  peering  as  if  from  an 
ambush. 

The  clearness  of  this  vision  was  contained  by  a  thick  and  fiery 
atmosphere,  into  which  a  soft  white  rush  and  swirl  of  fog  fell  like 
a  sudden  whirl  of  snow.  It  closed  down  and  overwhelmed  at  once 
the  tall  flutter  of  the  flames,  the  black  figures,  the  purple  gleams 
playing  round  my  oar.  The  hot  glare  had  struck  my  eyeballs  once, 
and  had  melted  away  again  into  the  old,  fiery  stain  on  the  mended 
fabric  of  the  fog.  But  the  attitudes  of  the  crouching  men  left  no 
room  for  doubt  that  we  had  been  seen.  I  expected  a  sudden  up- 
lifting of  voices  on  the  shore,  answered  by  cries  from  the  sea,  and 
I  screamed  excitedly  at  Castro  to  lay  hold  of  his  oar. 

He  did  not  stir,  and  after  my  shout,  which  must  have  fallen  on 
the  scared  ears  with  a  weird  and  unearthly  note,  a  profound  silence 
attended  us — 'the  silence  of  a  superstitious  fear.  And,  instead  of 
howls,  I  heard,  before  the  boat  had  traveled  its  own  short  length, 
a  voice  that  seemed  to  be  the  voice  of  fear  itself  asking,  "  Did  you 
hear  that?"  and  a  trembling  mutter  of  an  invocation  to  all  the 
saints.  Then  a  strangled  throat  trying  to  pronounce  firmly,  "  The 
souls  of  the  dead  Inglez.     Crying  from  pain." 

Admiral  Rowley's  seamen,  so  miserably  thrown  away  in  the  ill- 
conceived  attack  on  the  bay,  were  making  a  ghostly  escort  for  our 
escape.  Those  dead  boats'-crews  were  supposed  to  haunt  the  fatal 
spot,  after  the  manner  of  specters  that  linger  in  remorse,  regret, 
or  revenge,  about  the  gates  of  departure.  I  had  blundered ;  the 
fog,  breaking  apart.  Had  betrayed  us.  But  my  obscure  and  van- 
quished countrymen  held  possession  of  the  outlet  by  the  memory 


202  ROMANCE 

of  their  courage.  In  this  critical  moment  it  was  they,  I  may  say, 
who  stood  by  us. 

We,  on  our  part,  must  have  been  disclosed,  dark,  indistinct, 
utterly  inexplicable;  completely  unexpected;  an  apparition  of 
stealthy  shades.    The  painful  voice  in  the  fog  said: 

"  Let  them  be.  Answer  not.  They  shall  pass  on,  for  none  of 
them  died  on  the  shore — all  in  the  water.    Yes,  all  in  the  water." 

I  suppose  the  man  was  trying  to  reassure  himself  and  his  com- 
panions. His  meaning,  no  doubt,  was  that,  being  on  shore,  they 
were  safe  from  the  ghosts  of  those  Inglez  who  had  never  achieved 
a  landing.  From  the  enlarging  and  sudden  deepening  of  the 
glow,  I  knew  that  they  were  throwing  more  brushwood  on  the 
fire. 

I  kept  on  sculling,  and  gradually  the  sharp  fusillade  of  dry 
twigs  grew  more  distant,  more  muffled  in  the  fog.  At  last  it 
ceased  altogether.  Then  a  weakness  came  over  me,  and,  hauling 
my  oar  in,  I  sat  down  by  Seraphina's  side.  I  longed  for  the 
sound  of  her  voice,  for  some  tender  word,  for  the  caress  of  a 
murmur  upon  m.y  perplexed  soul.  I  was  sure  of  her,  as  of  a 
conquered  and  rare  treasure,  whose  possession  simplifies  life  into  a 
sort  of  adoring  guardianship — and  I  felt  so  much  at  her  mercy  that 
an  overwhelming  sense  of  guilt  made  me  afraid  to  speak  to  her. 
The  slight  heave  of  the  open  sea  swung  the  boat  up  and  down. 

Suddenly  Castro  let  out  a  sort  of  lugubrious  chuckle,  and,  in  low 
tones,  I  began  to  upbraid  him  with  his  apathy.  Even  with  his  one 
arm  he  should  have  obeyed  my  call  to  the  oar.  It  was  incompre- 
hensible to  me  that  we  had  not  been  fired  at.  Castro  enlightened 
me,  in  a  few  moody  and  scornful  words.  The  Rio  Medio  people, 
he  commented  upon  the  incident,  were  fools,  of  bestial  nature, 
afraid  of  they  knew  not  w^hat. 

"  Castro,  the  valor  of  these  dead  countrymen  of  mine  was  not 
wasted ;  they  have  stood  by  us  like  true  friends,"  I  whispered  in 
the  excitement  of  our  escape. 

"  These  insensate  English,"  he  grumbled.  ...  "A  dead  enemy 
would  have  served  the  turn  better.  If  the  caballero  had  none 
other  than  dead  friends.   .   .   ." 

His  harsh,  bitter  mumble  stopped.  Then  Seraphina's  voice  said 
softly : 


PART  FOURTH  203 

"  It  is  you  who  are  the  friend,  Tomas  Castro.  To  you  shall 
come  a  friend's  reward." 

"Alas,  senorita!  "  he  sighed.  "What  remains  for  me  in  this 
world — for  me  who  have  given  for  two  masses  for  the  souls  of  that 
illustrious  man,  and  of  your  cousin  Don  Carlos,  my  last  piece  of 
silver?  " 

"  We  shall  make  you  very  rich,  Tomas  Castro,"  she  said  with 
decision,  as  if  there  had  been  bags  of  gold  in  the  boat. 

He  returned  a  high-flown  phrase  of  thanks  in  a  bitter,  absent 
whisper.  I  knew  well  enough  that  the  help  he  had  given  me  was 
not  for  money,  not  for  love — not  even  for  loyalty  to  the  Riegos.  It 
was  obedience  to  the  last  recommendation  of  Carlos.  He  ran  risks 
for  my  safety,  but  gave  me  none  of  his  allegiance. 

He  was  still  the  same  tubby,  murderous  little  man,  with  a  steel 
blade  screwed  to  the  wooden  stump  of  his  forearm,  as  when,  swell- 
ing his  breast,  he  had  stepped  on  his  toes  before  me  like  a  blood- 
thirsty pigeon,  in  the  steerage  of  the  ship  that  had  brought  us  from 
home.  I  heard  him  mumble,  with  almost  incredible,  sardonic  con- 
tempt, that,  indeed,  the  senor  would  soon  have  none  but  dead 
friends  if  he  refrained  from  striking  at  his  enemies.  Had  the  senor 
taken  the  very  excellent  opportunity  afforded  by  Providence,  and 
that  any  sane  Christian  man  would  have  taken — to  let  him  stab 
the  Juez  O'Brien — we  should  not  then  be  wandering  in  a  little 
boat.  What  folly!  What  folly!  One  little  thrust  of  a  knife, 
and  we  should  all  have  been  now  safe  in  our  beds.   .   .  . 

His  tone  was  one  of  weary  superiority,  and  I  remained  appalled 
by  that  truth,  stripped  of  all  chivalrous  pretense.  It  was  clear, 
in  sparing  that  defenseless  life,  I  had  been  guilty  of  cruelty  for  the 
sake  of  my  conscience.  There  was  Seraphina  by  my  side;  it  was 
she  who  had  to  suffer.  I  had  let  her  enemy  go  free,  because  he 
had  happened  to  be  near  me,  disarmed.  Had  I  acted  like  an  Eng- 
lishman and  a  gentleman,  or  only  like  a  fool  satisfying  his  sentiment 
at  other  people's  expense?  Innocent  people,  too,  like  the  Riego  ser- 
vants, Castro  himself;  like  Seraphina,  on  whom  my  high-minded 
forbearance  had  brought  all  these  dangers,  these  hardships,  and  this 
uncertain  fate. 

She  gave  no  sign  of  having  heard  Castro's  words.  The  silence 
of  women  is  very  impenetrable,  and  it  was  as  if  my  hold  upon  the 


204  ROMANCE 

world — since  she  was  the  whole  world  for  me — had  been  weak- 
ened by  that  shade  of  decency  of  feeling  which  makes  a  distinction 
between  killing  and  murder.  But  suddenly  I  felt,  without  her 
cloaked  figure  having  stirred,  her  small  hand  slip  into  mine.  Its 
soft  warmth  seemed  to  go  straight  to  my  heart,  soothing,  invigorat- 
ing— as  if  she  had  slipped  into  my  palm  a  weapon  of  extraordinary 
and  inspiring  potency. 

"  Ah,  you  are  generous,"  I  whispered  close  to  the  edge  of  the 
cloak  overshadowing  her  face. 

"  You  must  now  think  of  yourself,  Juan,"  she  said. 

"  Of  myself,"  I  echoed  sadly.  "  I  have  only  you  to  think  of, 
and  you  are  so  far  away — out  of  my  reach.  There  are  your  dead 
— all  your  loss,  between  you  and  me." 

She  touched  my  arm. 

"  It  is  I  who  must  think  of  my  dead,"  she  whispered.  "  But 
you,  you  must  think  of  yourself,  because  I  have  nothing  of  mine 
in  this  world  now." 

Her  words  affected  me  like  the  whisper  of  remorse.  It  was  true. 
There  were  her  wealth,  her  lands,  her  palaces;  but  her  only  refuge 
was  that  little  boat.  Her  father's  long  aloofness  from  life  had 
created  such  an  isolation  round  his  closing  years  that  his  daughter 
had  no  one  but  me  to  turn  to  for  protection  against  the  plots  of 
her  own  Intendente.  And,  at  the  thought  of  our  desperate  plight, 
of  the  suffering  awaiting  us  in  that  small  boat,  with  the  possibility 
of  a  lingering  death  for  an  end,  I  wavered  for  a  moment.  Was  it 
not  my  duty  to  return  to  the  bay  and  give  myself  up?  In  that 
case,  as  Castro  expressed  it,  our  throats  would  be  cut  for  love  of 
the  ]uez. 

But  Seraphina,  the  rabble  would  carry  to  the  Casa  on  the  palms 
of  their  hands — 'Out  of  veneration  for  the  family,  and  for  fear  of 
O'Brien. 

"  So,  senor,"  he  mumbled,  "  if  to  you  to-morrow's  sun  is  as 
little  as  to  me,  let  us  pull  the  boat's  head  round." 

"  Let  us  set  our  hands  to  the  side  and  overturn  it,  rather,"  Sera- 
phina said,  with  an  indignation  of  high  command. 

I  said  no  more.  If  I  could  have  taken  O'Brien  with  me  into 
the  other  world,  I  would  have  died  to  save  her  the  pain  of  so  much 
as  a  pinprick.     But  because  I  could  not,  she  must  even  go  with 


PART  FOURTH  205 

me;  must  suffer  because  I  clung  to  her  as  men  cling  to  their  hope 
of  highest  good — with  an  exalted  and  selfish  devotion. 

Castro  had  moved  forward,  as  if  to  show  his  readiness  to  pull 
round.  Meantime  I  heard  a  click.  A  feeble  gleam  fell  on  his 
misty  hands  under  the  black  halo  of  the  hat  rim.  Again  the  flint 
and  blade  clicked,  and  a  large  red  spark  winked  rapidly  in  the  bows. 
He  had  lighted  a  cigarette. 


CHAPTER  II 

SILENCE,  stillness,  breathless  caution  were  the  absolute  con- 
ditions of  our  existence.  But  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  remon- 
strate with  him  for  the  danger  he  caused  Seraphina  and 
myself.  The  fog,  was  so  thick  now  that  I  could  not  make  out  his 
outline,  but  I  could  smell  the  tobacco  very  plainly. 

The  acrid  odor  of  picadura  seemed  to  knit  the  events  of 
three  years  into  one  uninterrupted  adventure,  I  remembered  the 
shingle  beach;  the  deck  of  the  old  Thames.  It  brought  to  my 
mind  my  first  vision  of  Seraphina,  and  the  emblazoned  magnificence 
of  Carlos'  sick  bed.  It  all  came  and  went  in  a  whiff  of  smoke ;  for 
of  all  the  power  and  charm  that  had  made  Carlos  so  seductive  there 
remained  no  such  deep  trace  in  the  world  as  in  the  heart  of  the 
little  grizzled  bandit  who,  like  a  philosopher,  or  a  desperado,  puffed 
his  cigarette  in  the  face  of  the  very  spirit  of  murder  hovering  round 
us,  under  the  mask  and  cloak  of  the  fog.  And  by  the  serene  heaven 
of  my  life's  evening,  the  spirit  of  murder  became  actually  audible 
to  us  in  hasty  and  rhythmical  knocks,  accompanied  by  a  cheerful 
tinkling. 

These  sounds,  growing  swiftly  louder,  at  last  induced  Castro  to 
throw  away  his  cigarette.  Seraphina  clutched  my  arm.  The  noise 
of  oars  rowing  fast,  to  the  precipitated  jingling  of  a  guitar,  swooped 
down  upon  us  with  a  gallant  ferocity. 

"  Caramba,"  Castro  muttered ;  "  it  is  the  fool  Manuel  him- 
self!" 

I  said,  then: 

"  We  have  eight  shots  between  us  two,  Tomas." 

He  thrust.his  brace  of  pistols  upon  my  knees. 

"  Dispose  of  them  as  your  worship  pleases,"  he  muttered. 

"  You  mustn't  give  up,  yet,"  I  whispered. 

"  What  is  it  that  I  give  up?  "  he  mumbled  wearily.  "  Besides, 
there  grows  from  my  forearm  a  blade.     If  I  shall  find  myself  in- 

206 


PART  FOURTH  207 

disposed  to  quit  this  world  alone.  .  .  .  Listen  to  the  singing  of 
that  imbecile." 

A  caroling  falsetto  seemed  to  hang  muffled  in  upper  space,  above 
the  fog  that  settled  low  on  the  water,  like  a  dense  and  milky  sedi- 
ment of  the  air.  The  moonlight  fell  into  it  strangely.  We  seemed 
to  breathe  at  the  bottom  of  a  shallow  sea,  white  as  snow,  shining 
like  silver,  and  impenetrably  opaque  everywhere,  except  overhead^ 
where  the  yellow  disc  of  the  moon  glittered  through  a  thin  cloud 
of  steam.  The  gay  truculence  of  the  hollow  knocking,  the  metallic 
jingle,  the  shrill  trolling,  went  on  crescendo  to  a  burst  of  babbling 
voices,  a  mad  speed  of  tinkling,  a  thundering  shout,  "  Altro, 
Jmigo!  "  followed  by  a  great  clatter  of  oars  flung  in.  The  sudden 
silence  pulsated  with  the  ponderous  strokes  of  my  heart. 

To  escape  now  seemed  impossible.  At  least  it  seemed  impossible 
while  they  talked.  A  dark  spot  in  the  shining  expanse  of  fog 
swam  into  view.  It  shifted  its  place  after  I  had  first  made  it  out, 
and  then  remained  motionless,  astern  of  the  dingey.  It  was  the 
shadow  of  a  big  boat  full  of  men,  but  when  they  were  silent,  I  was 
not  sure  that  I  saw  anything  at  all.  I  make  no  doubt,  had  they 
been  aware  of  our  nearness,  there  were  amongst  them  eyes  that 
could  have  detected  us  in  the  same  elusive  way.  But  how  could 
they  even  dream  of  anything  of  the  kind  ?  They  talked  noisily,  and 
there  must  have  been  a  round  dozen  of  them,  at  the  least.  Some- 
times they  would  fall  a-shouting  all  together,  and  then  keep  quiet 
as  if  listening.  By-and-by  I  began  to  hear  answering  yells,  that 
seemed  to  converge  upon  us  from  all  directions. 

We  were  in  the  thick  of  it.  It  was  Manuel's  boat,  as  Castro 
had  guessed,  and  the  other  boats  were  rallying  upon  it  gropingly, 
keeping  up  a  succession  of  yells : 

"  Ohef    Ohel     Where,  where?  " 

And  the  people  in  Manuel's  boat  howled  back  at  them,  "  Ohe! 
Ohe   .   .   el    This  way ;  here !  " 

Suddenly  he  struck  the  guitar  a  mighty  blow,  and  chanted  in  an 
inspired  and  grandiose  strain : 

"  Steer — for — the — song." 

His  fingers  ran  riot  among  the  strings,  and  above  the  jingling 
his  voice,  forced  to  the  highest  pitch,  declaimed,  as  in  the  midst  of 
a  tempest: 


2o8  ROMANCE 

"  I  adore  the  saints  in  the  glory  of  heaven 
And,  on  the  dust  of  the  earth, 
The  print  of  her  footsteps." 

He  was  improvising.  Sometimes  he  gasped ;  the  rill  of  softened 
tinkle  ran  on,  and,  glaring  watchfully,  I  fancied  I  could  detect 
his  shape  in  the  white  vapor,  like  a  shadow  thrown  from  afar  by 
a  tallow  dip  upon  a  snowy  sheet — the  lank  droop  of  his  posturing, 
the  greasy  locks,  the  attentive  poise  of  his  head,  the  sentimental 
rolling  of  his  lustrous  and  enormous  eyes. 

I  had  not  forgotten  his  astonishing  display  in  the  cabin  of  the 
schooner  when,  after  the  confiding  of  his  woes  and  his  ambitions, 
he  had  favored  me  with  a  sample  of  his  art.  As  at  that  time,  when 
he  had  been  nursing  his  truculent  conceit,  he  sang,  and  the  unsteady 
twanging  of  his  guitar  lurched  and  staggered  far  behind  his  voice, 
like  a  drunken  slave  in  the  footsteps  of  a  raving  master.  Tinkle, 
tinkle,  twang!  A  headlong  rush  of  muddled  fingering;  a  sudden 
bang,  like  a  heavy  stumble. 

"She  is  the  proud  daughter  of  the  old  Castile!  Ola!  Ola!^' 
he  chanted  mysteriously  at  the  beginning  of  every  stanza  in  a 
rapturous  and  soft  ecstasy,  and  then  would  shriek,  as  though  he 
had  been  suddenly  cast  up  on  the  rock.  The  poet  of  Rio  Medio 
w^as  rallying  his  crew  of  thieves  to  a  rhapsody  of  secret  and  unre- 
quited passion.  Tivang,  ping,  tinkle  tinkle.  He  was  the  Capataz 
of  the  valiant  Lugarenos!  The  true  Capataz!  The  only  Capataz. 
Ola!  Ola!  Twang,  tivang.  But  he  was  the  slave  of  her  charms, 
the  captive  of  her  eyes,  of  her  lips,  of  her  hair,  of  her  eyebrows, 
which,  he  proclaimed  in  a  soaring  shriek,  were  like  rainbows  arched 
over  stars. 

It  was  a  love-song,  a  mournful  parody,  the  odious  grimacing  of 
an  ape  to  the  true  sorrow  of  the  human  face.  I  could  have  fled 
from  it,  as  from  an  intolerable  humiliation.  And  it  would  have 
been  easy  to  pull  away  unheard  while  he  sang,  but  I  had  a  plan, 
the  beginning  of  a  plan,  something  like  the  beginning  of  a  hope. 
And  for  that  I  should  have  to  use  the  fog  for  the  purpose  of  re- 
maining within  earshot. 

Would  the  fog  last  long  enough  to  serve  my  turn?  That  was 
the  only  question,  and  I  believed  it  would,  for  it  settled  lower ; 
it  settled  down  denser,  almost  too  heavy  to  be  stirred  by  the  fitful 


Like  a  shadow  throivn  from  afar   .   .   .   upon  a  snoiuy  sheet 


PART  FOURTH  lo^ 

efforts  of  the  breeze.  It  was  a  true  night  fog  of  the  tropics,  that, 
born  after  sunset,  tries  to  creep  back  into  the  warm  bosom  of  the 
sea  before  sunrise.  Once  in  Rio  Medio,  taking  a  walk  in  the  early 
morning  along  the  sand-dunes,  I  had  stood  watching  below  me  the 
heads  of  some  people,  fishing  from  a  boat,  emerge  strangely  in  the 
dawn  out  of  such  a  fog.  It  concealed  their  very  shoulders  more 
completely  than  water  could  have  done.  I  trusted  it  would  not 
come  so  soon  to  our  heads,  emerging,  though  it  seemed  to  me  that 
already,  by  merely  clambering  on  Castro's  shoulders,  I  could  attain 
to  clear  moonlight ;  see  the  highlands  of  the  coast,  the  masts  of  the 
English  ship.  She  could  not  be  very  far  off  if  only  one  could  tell 
the  direction.  But  an  unsteady  little  dingey  was  not  the  platform 
for  acrobatic  exercises,  and  Castro  not  exactly  the  man. 

The  slightest  noise  would  have  betrayed  us,  and  moreover,  the 
thing  was  no  good,  for  even  supposing  I  had  got  a  hurried  sight  of 
the  ship's  spars,  I  should  have  to  get  down  into  the  fog  to  pull,  and 
there  would  be  nothing  visible  to  keep  us  from  going  astray,  unless 
at  every  dozen  strokes  I  clambered  on  Castro's  shoulders  again  to 
rectify  the  direction — an  obviously  impracticable  and  absurd  pro- 
ceeding. 

"  She  is  the  proud  daughter  of  old  Castile,  Ola,Ola" 

Manuel    sang    confidentially    with    a    subdued    and    gallant    lilt 
.    .    .   Obviously  impracticable.     But  I  had  another  idea. 
Tinkle  tinkle  pinnnng.   .   .   Brrroum.  Brrrroum. 

"  My  sonl  yearns  for  the  alms  of  a  smile. 
For  a  forgiving  glance  yearns  my  lofty  soul    .     ,     ." 

he  sang.  Ah,  if  one  could  have  added  another  four  feet  to  one's 
stature.  Four  or  five  feet  only.  There  seemed  to  be  nothing  but 
a  thin  veil  between  me  and  the  moon.  No  more  than  a  thin  haze. 
But  at  the  level  of  my  eyes  everything  was  hidden.  From  behind 
the  white  veil  came  the  crying  of  the  strings,  a  screeching,  lugu- 
brious and  fierce  in  its  artificial  transport,  as  if  it  were  mocking 
my  sad  and  ardent  conviction  of  unworthiness,  the  crowning  tor- 
ment, and  the  inward  pride  of  pure  love.  In  the  breathless  pauses 
I  could  hear  the  hollow  bumping  of  gunwales  knocking  against 


2  10  ROMANCE 

each  other;  faint  splashings  of  oars;  the  distant  hail  of  some  lag- 
gards groping  their  way  on  the  shrouded  sea. 

The  note  of  cruel  passion  that  runs  in  th^  blood  held  these  cut- 
throats profoundly  silent  in  their  boats,  as  at  home  I  could  imagine 
a  party  of  smugglers  (they  would  not  stick  at  a  murder -or  two, 
either)  listening,  with  pensive  faces,  to  a  sentimental  ditty  of  some 
"  sweet  Nancy,"  howled  dismally  within  the  walls  of  a  wayside 
taproom  in  the  smoke  of  pipes.  I  seemed  to  understand  pro- 
foundly the  difference  of  races  that  brings  with  it  the  feeling  of 
romance  or  awakens  hate.  My  gorge  rose  at  Manuel's  song.  I 
hatted  his  lamentations.  "Alas,  alas;  in  vain,  in  vain."  He 
strummed  with  vertiginous  speed,  with  fury,  and  the  distracted 
clamor  of  his  voice,  wrestling  madly  with  the  ringing  madness  of 
the  strings,  ended  in  a  piercing  and  supreme  shriek. 

"  Finished.  It  is  finished."  A  low  and  applauding  murmur 
flowed  to  my  ears,  the  austere  acclamations  of  connoisseurs.  "Viva, 
viva,  Manuele!  " — a  squeak  of  fervid  admiration.  "  Ah,  our 
Manuelito."  .  .  .  But  a  gruff  voice  discoursed  jovially,  "  Care 
not,  Manuel.  What  of  Paquita  with  the  broken  tooth?  Is  she 
not  left  to  thee?  And,  por  Dios,  hombres,  in  the  dark  all  women 
are  alike." 

*'  I  will  cram  thy  unclean  mouth  with  live  coals,"  Manuel 
drawled  spitefully. 

They  roared  with  laughter  at  this  sally.  I  depicted  to  myself 
their  shapes,  their  fierce  gesticulations,  their  earrings,  bound  heads, 
rags,  and  weapons,  the  vile  scowls  on  their  swarthy,  grimacing 
faces.  My  anxiety  beheld  them  as  plainly  as  anything  seen  with 
the  eyes  of  the  body.  And,  with  my  sharpened  hearing  catching 
every  word  with  preternatural  distinctness,  I  felt  as  if,  the  ring 
of  Gyges  on  my  finger,  I  had  sat  invisible  at  the  council  of  my 
enemies. 

It  was  noisy,  animated,  with  an  issue  of  supreme  interest  for  us. 
The  ship,  seen  at  midday  standing  inshore  with  a  light  wind,  had 
not  approached  the  bay  near  enough  to  be  conveniently  attacked 
till  just  after  dusk.  They  had  waited  for  her  all  the  afternoon, 
sleeping  and  gambling  on  the  spit  of  sand.  But  something  heavy 
in  her  appearance  had  excited  their  craven  suspicions,  and  checked 
their  ardor.     She  appeared  to  them  dangerous.     What  if  she  were 


PART  FOURTH  211 

an  English  man-of-war  disguised  ?  Some  even  pretended  to  recog- 
nize in  her  positively  one  of  the  lighter  frigates  of  Rowley's  squad- 
ron. Night  had  fallen  whilst  they  squabbled,  and  their  flotilla 
hung  under  the  land,  the  men  in  a  conflict  of  rapacity  and  fear, 
arguing  among  themselves  as  to  the  ship's  character,  but  all  unani-. 
mously  goading  Manuel — since  he  would  call  himself  their  only 
Capataz — ^to  go  boldly  and  find  out. 

It  seems  he  had  just  been  doing  this  with  the  help  of  a  few 
choicer  spirits,  and  under  cover  of  the  fog.  They  had  managed  to 
steal  near  enough  to  hear  Englishmen  conversing  jon  board,  orders 
given,  and  the  yo-hoing  of  invisible  sailors  trimming  the  yards  of 
the  ship  to  the  fitful  airs.  This  last,  of  course,  was  decisive.  Such 
sounds  are  not  heard  on  a  man-of-war.  She  was  a  merchant  ship : 
she  would  be  an  easy  prej^  And  Manuel,  in  a  state  of  exaltation 
at  his  venturesome  bravery,  had  pulled  back  inshore,  to  rally  all 
the  boats  round  his  own,  and  lead  them  to  certain  plunder.  They 
would  soon  find  out,  he  declaimed,  what  it  was  to  have  at  their 
head  their  own  valiant  Manuel,  instead  of  that  vagabond,  that 
stranger,  that  Andalusian  starveling ;  that  traitor,  that  infidel,  that 
Castro.  Hidden  away,  he  seemed  to  spout  all  this  for  our  ears 
alone,  as  though  he  could  see  us  in  our  boat.  .  .  .  Patience;  pa- 
tience !  Some  day  he  would  cut  off  that  interloper's  eyelids,  and  lay 
him  on  his  back  under  a  nice  clear  sun. 

Castro  made  a  brusque  movement;  a  little  shudder  of  disgust 
escaped  Seraphina.  .  .  .  Meantime,  Manuel  declared,  by  his 
audacity,  that  ship  was  as  good  as  theirs  already.  "  Viva  el  Capa- 
taz! "  they  cheered. 

The  cloud-like  vapors  resting  on  the  sea  m.uffled  the  short  roar; 
we  heard  grim  laughter,  excited  cries.  He  began  to  make  a  set 
speech,  and  his  voice,  haranguing  with  vehement  inflections  in  the 
shining  whiteness  of  a  cloud,  had  an  amazing  and  uncorporeal  char- 
acter; the  quality  of  abstract  surprise;  of  phenomenal  emotion 
shouted  into  empty  space.  And  for  me  it  had,  also,  the  fascination 
of  a  revealed  depth. 

It  was  like  the  oration  of  an  ambitious  leader  in  a  farce;  he  held 
his  hearers  with  his  eloquence,  as  much  as  he  had  done  with  the 
song  of  his  grotesque  and  desecrating  love.  He  vaunted  his  sagacity 
and  his  valor,  and  overwhelmed  with  invective  all  sorts  of  names — 


212  ROMANCE 

my  own  and  Castro's  among  them.  He  revealed  the  unholy  ideals 
of  all  that  band  of  scoundrels — ideals  that  he  said  should  find 
fruition  under  his  captaincy.  He  boasted  of  secret  conferences  with 
O'Brien.     There  were  murmurs  of  satisfaction. 

I  don't  wonder  at  Seraphina's  shudder  of  horror,  of  disgust,  of 
dismay,  and  indignation.  Robbed  of  the  inexpugnable  shelter  of 
the  Casa  Riego,  she,  too,  was  made  to  look  into  the  depths;  upon 
the  animalism,  the  lusts,  and  the  reveries  of  that  sordid,  vermin- 
haunted  crowd.  I  felt  for  her  a  profound  and  shamed  sorrow.  It 
was  like  a  profaning  touch  on  the  sacredness  of  her  mourning  for 
the  dead,  and  on  her  clear  and  passionate  vision  of  life. 

"  Hombres  de  Rio  Medio!  AmigosI  Valientes!  .  .  ." 
Manuel  was  beginning  his  peroration.  He  would  lead  them,  now, 
against  the  English  ship.  The  terrified  heretics  would  surrender. 
There  was  always  gold  in  English  ships.  He  stopped  his  speech, 
and  then  called  loudly,  "  Let  the  boats  keep  touch  with  each  other, 
and  not  stray  in  that  fog." 

"  The  dog,"  grunted  Castro.  We  heard  a  resolute  bustle  of 
preparation ;  oars  were  being  shipped. 

"  Make  ready,  Tomas,"  I  whispered. 

"  Ready  for  what?  "  he  grumbled.  "  Where  shall  your  worship 
run  from  these  swine?  " 

"  We  must  follow  them,"  I  answered. 

"  The  madness  of  the  senor's  countrymen  descends  upon  him," 
he  whispered  with  sardonic  politeness.     "Wherefore  follow?" 

"  To  find  the  English  ship,"  I  answered  swiftly. 

This,  from  the  moment  we  had  heard  Manuel's  guitar,  had  been 
my  idea.  Since  the  fog  that  concealed  us  from  their  sight  made 
us,  too,  hopelessly  blind,  those  wretches  must  guide  us  themselves 
out  of  their  own  clutches,  as  it  were.  I  don't  put  this  forward  as 
an  inspired  conception.  It  was  a  most  risky  and  almost  hopeless 
expedient;  but  the  position  was  so  critical  that  there  was  no  other 
alternative  to  sitting  still  and  waiting  with  folded  hands  for  dis- 
covery.    Castro  seemed  more  inclined  for  the  latter. 

Fortunately,  the  bandits  wasted  some  time  in  blasphemous  bicker- 
ings as  to  the  order  of  the  boats  in  the  procession  of  attack.  I 
urged  my  views  upon  Castro  in  hurried  whispers.  His  assent  was 
of  importance,  since  he  could  use  an  oar  very  well,  and,  if  left  to 


PART  FOURTH  213 

myself,  I  could  not  hope  to  scull  fast  enough  to  keep  within  hearing 
of  the  flotilla. 

"  Of  what  use  to  us  would  be  a  ship  in  Manuel's  power?  "  he 
argued  morosely.  On  the  other  hand,  if  we  waited  near  her  till 
she  had  been  plundered  and  released,  neither  the  fog  nor  the  night 
would  last  forever. 

"  My  countrymen  shall  beat  them  off,"  I  affirmed  confidently. 
"  At  any  rate,  let  us  be  on  the  spot.  We  may  take  a  hand.  And 
remember,  Tomas,  they  are  not  led  by  you,  this  time." 

"  True,"  he  said,  mollified.  "  But  one  thing  more  deserves  the 
consideration  of  your  worship.  .  .  If  we  follow  this  plan,  we 
take  the  senorita  among  flying  bullets.  And  lead,  alas!  unlike  steel, 
is  blind,  or  that  illustrious  man  would  not  now  be  dead.  If  we 
wait  here,  the  senorita,  at  least,  shall  take  no  harm  from  these 
ruffians,  as  I  have  said." 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  the  bullets?  "  I  asked  Seraphina. 

Before  she  had  answered,  Castro  hissed  at  me: 

"  Oh,  you  unspeakable  English.  Would  you  sacrifice  the  daugh- 
ter, too,  only  because  she  is  brave?  " 

His  sinister  allusion  made  my  blood  boil  with  rage,  and  sud- 
denly run  cold  in  my  veins.  Swathed  in  the  brilliant  cloud,  we 
heard  the  sounds  of  quarreling  and  scrambling  die  away;  cries  of 
"Ready!  ready!"  an  unexpected  and  brutal  laugh.  Seraphina 
leaned  forward. 

"  Tomas,  I  wish  this  thing.  I  command  it,"  she  whispered  im- 
periously. "  We  shall  help  these  English  on  the  ship.  We  must; 
I  command  it.    For  these  are  now  my  people." 

I  heard  him  mutter  to  himself,  "  Ah,  dear  shade  of  my  Carlos. 
Her  people.  Where  are  now  mine?"  But  he  shipped  his  oar, 
and  sat  waiting. 

In  the  moment  before  the  picaroons  actually  started,  I  became 
the  prey  of  the  most  intense  anxiety.  I  knew  we  were  to  seaward 
of  the  cluster.  But  of  our  position  relatively  to  the  boats,  and  to 
the  English  ship  they  would  make  for,  I  was  profoundly  ignorant. 
The  dingey  might  be  lying  right  in  the  way.  Before  I  could 
master  the  sort  of  disorder  I  was  thrown  into  by  that  thought — 
which,  strange  to  say,  had  not  occurred  to  me  till  then — with  a 
shrill  whistle  Manuel  led  off. 


214  ROMANCE 

We  are  always  inclined  to  trust  our  eyes  rather  than  our  ears; 
and  such  is  the  conventional  temper  in  which  we  receive  the  im- 
pression of  our  senses  that  I  had  no  idea  they  were  so  near  us. 
The  destruction  of  my  illusory  feeling  of  distance  was  the  most 
startling  thing  in  the  world.  Instantly,  it  seemed,  with  the  second 
swing  and  plash  of  the  oars,  the  boats  were  right  upon  us.  They 
went  clear.  It  was  like  being  grazed  by  a  fall  of  rocks.  I  seemed 
to  feel  the  wind  of  the  rush. 

The  rapid  clatter  of  rowing,  the  excited  hum  of  voices,  the 
violent  commotion  of  the  water,  passed  by  us  with  an  impetuosity 
that  took  my  breath  away.  They  had  started  in  a  bunch.  There 
must  have  been  amongst  them  at  least  one  crew  of  negroes,  because 
somebody  was  beating  a  tambourine  smartly,  and  the  rowers  cho- 
rused in  a  quick,  panting  undertone,  "  Ho,  Iw,  talibambo.  .  .  . 
Ho,  ho,  talibambo^  One  of  the  boats  silhouetted  herself  for  an 
instant,  a  row  of  heads  swaying  back  and  forth,  towered  over 
astern  by  a  full-length  figure  as  straight  as  an  arrow.  A  retreating 
voice  thundered,  "Silence!"  The  sounds  and  the  forms  faded 
together  in  the  fog  with  amazing  swiftness. 

Seraphina,  her  cloak  of?,  her  head  bare,  stared  forward  after 
the  fleeting  murmurs  and  shadows  we  were  pursuing.  Sometimes 
she  warned  us,  "  More  to  the  left  ";  or,  "  Faster!  "  We  had  to 
put  forth  our  best,  for  Manuel,  as  if  in  the  very  wantonness  of 
confidence,  had  set  a  tremendous  pace. 

I  suppose  he  took  his  first  direction  by  the  light  on  the  point. 
I  cannot  tell  what  guided  him  after  that  feeble  sheen  had  become 
buried  in  the  fog;  but  there  was  no  check  in  the  speed,  no  sign 
of  hesitation.  We  followed  in  the  track  of  the  sound,  and,  for  the 
most  part,  kept  in  sight  of  the  elusive  shadow  of  the  sternmost 
boat.  Often,  in  a  denser  belt  of  fog,  the  sounds  of  rowing  became 
muffled  almost  to  extinction ;  or  we  seemed  to  hear  them  all  round 
and,  startled,  checked  our  speed.  Dark  apparitions  of  boats  would 
surge  up  on  all  sides  in  a  most  inexplicable  way;  to  the  right;  to 
the  left;  even  coming  from  behind.  They  appeared  real,  unmis- 
takable, and,  before  we  had  time  to  dodge  them,  vanished  utterly. 
Then  we  had  to  spurt  desperately  after  the  grind  of  the  oars, 
caught,  just  in  time,  in  an  unexpected  direction. 

And  then  we  lost  them.    We  pulled  frantically.    Seraphina  had 


PART  FOURTH  215 

been  urging  us,  "  Faster!  faster!  "  From  time  to  time  I  would  ask 
her,  "Can  you  see  them?"  "Not  yet,"  she  answered  curtly. 
The  perspiration  poured  down  my  face.  Castro's  panting  was 
like  the  wheezing  of  bellows  at  my  back.  Suddenly,  in  a  despair- 
ing tone,  she  said: 

"  Stop!     I  can  neither  see  nor  hear  anything  now." 

We  feathered  our  oars  at  once,  and  fell  to  listening  with  lowered 
heads.  The  ripple  of  the  boat's  way  expired  slowly.  A  great 
white  stillness  hung  slumbrously  over  the  sea. 

It  was  inconceivable.  We  pulled  once  or  twice  with  extreme 
energy  for  a  few  minutes  after  imaginary  whistles  or  shouts.  Once 
I  heard  them  passing  our  bows.  But  it  was  useless;  we  stopped, 
and  the  moon,  from  within  the  mistiness  of  an  immense  halo, 
looked  dreamily  upon  our  heads. 

Castro  grunted,  "  Here  is  an  end  of  your  plan,  Senor  Don 
Juan." 

The  peculiar  and  ghastly  hopelessness  of  our  position  could  not 
be  better  illustrated  than  by  this  fresh  difficulty.  We  had  lost 
touch — with  a  murderous  gang  that  had  every  inducement  not  to 
spare  our  lives.  And  positively  it  was  a  misfortune ;  an  abandon- 
ment. I  refused  to  admit  to  myself  its  finality,  as  if  it  had  reflected 
upon  the  devotion  of  tried  friends.  I  repeated  to  Castro  that  we 
should  become  aware  of  them  directly — probably  even  nearer  than 
we  wished.  And,  at  any  rate,  we  were  certain  of  a  mighty  loud 
noise  when  the  attack  on  the  ship  began.  She,  at  least,  could  not 
be  very  far  now.  "  Unless,  indeed,"  I  admitted  with  exaspera- 
tion, "  we  are  to  suppose  that  your  imbecile  Lugarehos  have 
missed  their  prey  and  got  themselves  as  utterly  lost  as  we  our- 
selves." 

I  was  irritated — by  his  nodding  plume ;  by  his  cold,  perfunctory, 
as  if  sleepy  mutters,  "  Possibly,  possibly,  puede  ser."  He  retorted: 
"  Your  English  generosity  could  wish  your  countrymen  no  better 
luck  than  that  my  Lugarenos,  as  your  worship  pleases  to  call  them, 
should  miss  their  way.  They  are  hungry  for  loot — with  much 
fasting.  And  it  is  hunger  that  makes  your  wolf  fly  straight  at  the 
throat." 

All  the  time  Seraphina  breathed  no  word.  But  when  I  raised 
my  voice,  she  put  out  a  hushing  hand  to  my  arm.     And,  from  her 


2i6  ROMANCE 

intent  pose,  from  the  turn  of  her  shadowy  head,  I  knew  that  she 
was  peering  and  listening  loyally. 

Minutes  passed — very  few,  I  dare  say — and  brought  no  sound. 
The  restlessness  of  waiting  made  us  dip  our  oars  in  a  haphazard 
stroke,  without  aim,  without  the  means  of  judging  whether  we 
pulled  to  seaward,  inshore,  north,  or  south,  or  only  in  a  circle. 
Once  we  went  excitedly  in  chase  of  some  splashing  that  must  have 
been  a  leaping  fish.  I  was  hanging  my  head  over  my  idle  oar  when 
Seraphina  touched  me. 

"  I  see!  "  she  said,  pointing  over  the  bows. 

Both  Castro  and  I,  peering  horizontally  over  the  water,  did  not 
see  anything.  Not  a  shadow.  Moreover,  if  they  were  so  near,  we 
ought  to  have  heard  something. 

"  I  believe  it  is  land!  "  she  murmured.  "  You  are  looking  too 
low,  Juan." 

As  soon  as  I  looked  up  I  saw  it,  too,  dark  and  beetling,  like  the 
overhang  of  a  low  cliff.  Where  on  earth  had  we  blundered  to? 
For  a  moment  I  was  confounded.  Fiery  reflections  from  a  light 
played  faintly  above  that  shape.  Then  I  recognized  what  I  was 
looking  at.    We  had  found  the  ship. 

The  fog  was  so  shallow  that  up  there  the  upper  bulk  of  a  heavy, 
square  stern,  the  very  rails  and  stanchions  crowning  it  like  a  balus- 
trade, jutted  out  in  the  misty  sheen  like  the  balcony  of  an  invisible 
edifice,  for  the  lines  of  her  run,  the  sides  of  her  hull,  were  plunged 
in  the  dense  white  layer  below.  And,  throwing  back  my  head,  I 
traced  even  her  becalmed  sails,  pearly  gray  pinnacles  of  shadow 
uprising,  tall  and  motionless,  towards  the  moon. 

A  redness  wavered  over  her,  as  from  a  blaze  on  her  deck.  Could 
she  be  on  fire  ?  And  she  was  silent  as  a  tomb.  Could  she  be  aban- 
doned ?  I  had  promised  myself  to  dash  alongside,  but  there  was  a 
weirdness  in  that  fragment  of  a  dumb  ship  hanging  out  of  a  fog. 
We  pulled  only  a  stroke  or  two  nearer  to  the  stern,  and  stopped. 
I  remembered  Castro's  warning — the  blindness  of  flying  lead ;  but 
it  was  the  profound  stillness  that  checked  me.  It  seemed  to  portend 
something  inconceivable.  I  hailed,  tentatively,  as  if  I  had  not  ex- 
pected to  be  answered,  "  Ship,  ahoy!  " 

Neither  was  I  answered  by  the  instantaneous,  "  Hallo,"  of  usual 
watchfulness,  though  she  was  not  abandoned.     Indeed,  my  hail 


PART  FOURTH  217 

made  a  good  many  men  jump,  to  judge  by  the  sounds  and  the 
words  that  came  to  me  from  above.  "  What?  What?  A  hail?  " 
"  Boat  near?  "    "  In  English,  sir." 

"  Dive  for  the  captain,  one  of  you,"  an  authoritative  voice  di- 
rected. "  He's  just  run  below  for  a  minute.  Don't  frighten  the 
missus.     Call  him  out  quietly." 

Talking,  in  confidential  undertones,  followed. 

"  See  him?  "  "  Can't,  sir."  "  What's  the  dodge,  I  wonder." 
"  Astern,  I  think,  sir."  "  D n  this  fog,  it  lies  as  thick  as  pea- 
soup  on  the  water." 

I  waited,  and  after  a  perplexed  sort  of  pause,  heard  a  stern 
"  Keep  off." 


CHAPTER  III 

THEY  did  not  suspect  how  close  I  was  to  them.  And 
their  temper  struck  me  at  once  as  unsafe.  They  seemed 
very  much  on  the  alert,  and,  as  I  imagined,  disposed  to 
precipitate  action.    I  called  out,  deadening  my  voice  warily : 

"  I  am  an  Englishman,  escaping  from  the  pirates  here.  We 
want  your  help." 

To  this  no  answer  was  made,  but  by  that  time  the  captain  had 
come  on  deck.  The  dingey  must  have  drifted  in  a  little  closer, 
for  I  made  out  behind  the  shadowy  rail  one,  two,  three  figures  in 
a  row,  looming  bulkily  above  my  head,  as  men  appear  enlarged  in 
mist. 

"  '  Englishman,'  "  he  says.  "  That's  very  likely,"  pronounced  a 
new  voice.  They  held  a  hurried  consultation  up  there,  of  which 
I  caught  only  detached  sentences,  and  the  general  tone  of  concern, 
"  It's  perfectly  well  known  that  there  is  an  Englishman  here.  .  .  . 
Aye,  a  runaway  second  mate.  .  .  .  Killed  a  man  in  a  Bristol 
ship.   .   .  .    What  was  his  name,  now?  " 

"  Won't  you  answer  me?  "  I  called  out. 

"  Aye,  we  will  answer  you  as  soon  as  we  see  you.  .  .  .  Keep 
your  eyes  skinned  fore  and' aft  on  deck  there.   .   .   .    Ready,  boys?" 

"All  ready,  sir";  voices  came  from  further  off. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  I  entreated. 

Someone  called  out  briskly,  "  This  is  a  bad  place  for  pretty  tales 
of  Englishmen  in  distress.    We  know  very  well  where  we  are." 

"  You  are  off  Rio  Medio,"  I  began  anxiously;  "  and  I " 

"  Speaks  the  truth  like  a  Briton,  anyhow,"  commented  a  lazy 
drawl. 

"  I  would  send  another  man  to  the  pump,"  a  reflective  voice 
suggested.    "  To  make  sure  of  the  force,  Mr.  Sebright,  you  know." 

"  Certainly,  sir.    .    .    .     Another  hand  to  the  brakes,  bo'sun." 

"  I  have  been  held  captive  on  shore,"  I  said.  "  I  escaped  this 
evening,  three  hours  ago." 

9I§ 


PART  FOURTH  219 

"  And  found  this  ship  in  the  fog?  You  made  a  good  shot  at  it, 
didn't  you?  " 

"  It's  no  time  for  trifling,  I  swear  to  you,"  I  continued.  "  They 
are  out  looking  for  you,  in  force.  I've  heard  them.  I  was  with 
them  when  they  started." 

"  I  believe  you." 

"  They  seem  to  have  missed  the  ship." 

"  So  you  came  to  have  a  friendly  chat  meantime.  That's  kind. 
Beastly  weather,  aint  it?  " 

"  I  want  to  come  aboard,"  I  shouted.  "  You  must  be  crazy  not 
to  believe  me." 

"  But  we  do  believe  every  single  word  you  say,"  bantered  the 
Sebright  voice  with  serenity. 

Suddenly  another  struck  in,  "  Nichols,  I  call  to  mind,  sir." 

"  Of  course,  of  course.    This  is  the  man." 

"  My  name's  not  Nichols,"  I  protested. 

"  Now,  now.  You  mustn't  begin  to  lie,"  remonstrated  Sebright. 
Somebody  laughed  discreetly. 

"  You  are  mistaken,  on  my  honor,"  I  said.  "  Nichols  left  Rio 
Medio  some  time  ago." 

"About  three  hours,  eh?  "  came  the  drawl  of  insufferable  folly 
in  these  precious  minutes. 

It  was  clear  that  Manuel  had  gone  astray,  but  I  feared  not  for 
long.  They  would  spread  out  in  search.  And  now  I  had  found 
this  hopeless  ship,  it  seemed  impossible  that  anybody  else  could 
miss  her. 

"  You  may  be  boarded  any  moment  by  more  than  a  dozen  boats. 
I  warn  you  solemnly.    Will  you  let  me  come  ?  " 

A  low  whistle  was  heard  on  board.  They  were  impressed, 
"  Why  should  he  tell  us  this?  "  an  undertone  inquired. 

"  Why  the  devil  shouldn't  he?  It's  no  great  news,  is  it?  Some 
scoundrelly  trick.  This  man's  up  to  any  dodge.  Why,  the  Jane 
was  taken  in  broad  day  by  two  boats  that  pretended  they  were 
going  to  sell  vegetables." 

"  Look  out,  or  by  heavens  you'll  be  taken  by  surprise.  There's 
a  lot  of  them,"  I  said  as  impressively  as  I  could. 

"  Look  out,  look  out.  There's  a  lot  of  them,"  someone  yelled 
in  a  sort  of  panic. 


220  ROMANCE 

"  Oh,  that's  your  game,"  Sebright's  voice  said  to  me.  "  Frighten 
us,  eh?  Never  you  mind  what  this  skunk  says,  men.  Stand  fast. 
We  shall  take  a  lot  of  killing."  He  was  answered  by  a  sort  of 
pugnacious  uproar,  a  clash  of  cutlasses  and  laughter,  as  if  at  some 
joke. 

"  That's  right,  boys;  mind  and  send  them  away  with  clean  faces, 
you  gunners.  Jack,  you  keep  a  good  lookout  for  that  poor  dis- 
tressed Englishman.  What's  that?  a  noise  in  the  fog?  Stand 
by.     Now  then,  cook!   .    .    ." 

"  All  ready  to  dish  up,  sir,"  a  voice  answered  him. 

It  was  like  a  sort  of  madness.  Were  they  thinking  of  eating? 
Even  at  that  the  English  talk  made  my  heart  expand — the  homeli- 
ness of  it.  I  seemed  to  know  all  their  voices,  as  if  I  had  talked  to 
each  man  before.  It  brought  back  memories,  like  the  voices  of 
friends.  But  there  was  the  strange  irrelevancy,  levity,  the  enmity 
— the  irrational,  baffling  nature  of  the  anguishing  conversation,  as 
if  with  the  unapproachable  men  we  meet  in  nightmares. 

We  in  the  dingey,  as  well  as  those  on  board,  were  listening 
anxiously.    A  profound  silence  reigned  for  a  time. 

"  I  don't  care  for  myself,"  I  tried  once  more,  speaking  distinctly. 
"  But  a  lady  in  the  boat  here  is  in  great  danger,  too.  Won't  you 
do  something  for  a  woman?  " 

I  perceived,  from  the  sort  of  stir  on  board,  that  this  caused  some 
sensation. 

"  Or  is  the  whole  ship's  company  afraid  to  let  one  little  boat 
come  alongside?  "  I  added-,  after  waiting  for  an  answer. 

A  throat  was  cleared  on  board  mildly,  "  Hem  .  .  .  you  see, 
we  don't  know  who  you  are." 

"  I've  told  you  who  I  am.    The  lady  is  Spanish." 

"  Just  so.  But  there  are  Englishmen  and  Englishmen  in  these 
days.  Some  of  them  keep  very  bad  company  ashore,  and  others 
afloat.  I  couldn't  think  of  taking  you  on  board,  unless  I  know 
something  more  of  you." 

I  seemed  to  detect  an  intention  of  malice  in  the  mild  voice.  The 
more  so  that  I  overheard  a  rapid  interchange  of  mutterings  up 
there.     "  See  him  yet?  "     "  Not  a  thing,  sir."     "  Wait,  I  say." 

Nothing  could  overcome  the  fixed  idea  of  these  men,  who  seemed 
to  enjoy  so  much  the  cleverness  of  their  suspicions.     It  was  the 


PART  FOURTH  221 

most  dangerous  of  tempers  to  deal  with.  It  made  them  as  un- 
trustworthy as  so  many  lunatics.  They  were  capable  of  anything, 
of  decoying  us  alongside,  and  stoving  the  bottom  out  of  the  boat, 
and  drowning  us  before  they  discovered  their  mistake,  if  they  ever 
did.  Even  as  it  was,  there  was  danger;  and  yet  I  was  extremely 
loath  to  give  her  up.  It  was  impossible  to  give  her  up.  But  what 
were  we  to  do?    What  to  say?    How  to  act? 

"  Castro,  this  is  horrible,"  I  said  blankly.  That  he  was  be- 
ginning to  chafe,  to  fret,  and  shuffle  his  feet  only  added  to  my 
dismay.  He  might  begin  at  any  moment  to  swear  in  Spanish,  and 
that  was  sure  to  bring  a  shower  of  lead,  blind,  fired  blindly.  "  We 
have  nothing  to  expect  from  the  people  of  that  ship.  We  cannot 
even  get  on  board." 

"  Not  without  Manuel's  help,  it  seems,"  he  said  bitterly. 
"  Strange,  is  it  not,  senor?  Your  countrymen — your  excellent  and 
virtuous  countrymen.  Generous  and  courageous  and  perspica- 
cious." 

Seraphina  said  suddenly,  "  They  have  reason.  It  is  well  for 
them  to  be  suspicious  of  us  in  this  place."  She  had  a  tone  of  calm 
reproof,  and  of  faith. 

"  They  shall  be  of  more  use  when  they  are  dead,"  Castro  mut- 
tered.   "  The  senor's  other  dead  countrymen  served  us  well." 

"  I  shall  give  you  great,  very  great  sums  of  money,"  Seraphina 
suddenly  cried  towards  the  ship.  "  I  am  the  Senorita  Seraphina 
Riego." 

"  There  is  a  woman — that's  a  woman's  voice,  I'll  swear,"  I  heard 
them  exclaim  on  board,  and  I  cried  again : 

"  Yes,  yes.    There  is  a  woman." 

"  I  dare  say.  But  where  do  you  come  in?  You  are  a  distressed 
Englishman,  aren't  you?  "  a  voice  came  back. 

"  You  shall  let  us  come  up  on  your  ship,"  Seraphina  said.  "  I 
shall  come  myself,  alone — Seraphina  Riego." 

"  Eh,  what?  "  the  voice  asked. 

I  felt  a  little  wind  on  the  back  of  my  head.  There  was  desperate 
hurry. 

"  We  are  escaping  to  get  married,"  I  called  out. 

They  were  beginning  to  shout  orders  on  the  ship. 

"  Oh,  you've  come  to  the  wrong  shop.     A  church  is  what  you 


222  ROMANCE 

want  for  that  trouble,"  the  voice  called  back  brutally,  through 
the  other  cries  of  orders  to  square  the  yards. 

I  shouted  again,  but  my  voice  must  have  been  drowned  in  the 
creaking  of  blocks  and  yards.  They  were  alert  enough  for  every 
chance  of  getting  away — for  every  flaw  of  wind.  Already  the 
ship  was  less  distinct,  as  if  my  eyes  had  grown  dim.  By  the  time 
a  voice  on  board  her  cried,  "  Belay,"  faintly,  she  had  gone  from 
my  sight.  Then  the  puff  of  wind  passed  away,  too,  and  left  us 
more  alone  than  ever,  with  only  the  small  disk  of  the  moon  poised 
vertically  above  the  mists. 

"  Listen,"  said  Tomas  Castro,  after  what  seemed  an  eternity  of 
crestfallen  silence. 

He  need  not  have  spoken ;  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  Manuel 
had  lost  himself,  and  my  belief  is  that  the  ship  had  sailed  right  into 
the  midst  of  the  flotilla.  There  was  an  unmistakable  character  of 
surprise  in  the  distant  tumult  that  arose  suddenly,  and  as  suddenly 
ceased  for  a  space  of  a  breath  or  two. 

"  Now,  Castro,"  I  shouted. 

"  Ha!  bueno!  " 

We  gave  way  with  a  vigor  that  seemed  to  lift  the  dingey  out  of 
the  water.    The  uproar  gathered  volume  and  fierceness. 

From  the  first  it  was  a  hand-to-hand  contest,  engaged  in  sud- 
denly, as  if  the  assailants  had  at  once  managed  to  board  in  a  body, 
and,  as  it  were,  in  one  unanimous  spring.  No  shots  had  been  fired. 
Too  far  to  hear  the  blows,  and  seeing  nothing  as  yet  of  the  ship, 
we  seemed  to  be  hastening  towards  a  deadly  struggle  of  voices,  of 
shadows  with  leathern  throats ;  every  cry  heard  in  battle  was  there 
— rage,  encouragement,  fury,  hate,  and  pain.  And  those  of  pain 
were  amazingly  distinct.  They  were  yells ;  they  were  how^ls.  And 
suddenly,  as  we  approached  the  ship,  but  before  we  could  make 
out  any  sign  of  her,  we  came  upon  a  boat.  We  had  to  swerve  to 
clear  her.  She  seemed  to  have  dropped  out  of  the  fight  in  utter 
disarray;  she  lay  with  no  oars  out,  and  full  of  men  who  writhed 
and  tumbled  over  each  other,  shrieking  as  if  they  had  been  flayed. 
Above  the  writhing  figures  in  the  middle  of  the  boat,  a  tall  man, 
upright  in  the  stern-sheets,  raved  awful  imprecations  and  shook  his 
fists  above  his  head. 

The  blunt  dingey  foamed  past  that  vision  within  an  oar's  length. 


PART  FOURTH  223 

no  more,  making  straight  for  the  clamor  of  the  fight.  The  last 
puff  of  wind  must  have  thinned  the  fog  in  the  ship's  track;  for, 
standing  up,  face  forward  to  pull  stroke,  I  saw  her  come  out,  stern- 
on  to  us,  from  truck  to  water-line,  mistily  tall  and  motionless,  but 
resounding  with  the  most  fierce  and  desperate  noises.  A  cluster 
of  empty  boats  clung  low  to  her  port  side,  raft-like  and  vague  on 
the  water. 

We  heard  now,  mingled  with  the  fury  and  hate  of  shouts  rever- 
berating from  the  placid  sails,  mighty  thuds  and  crashes,  as  though 
it  had  been  a  combat  with  clubs  and  battle-axes. 

Evidently,  in  the  surprise  and  haste  of  the  unexpected  coming 
together,  they  had  been  obliged  to  board  all  on  the  same  side.  As 
I  headed  for  the  other  a  big  boat,  full  of  men,  with  many  oars,  shot 
across  our  bows,  and  vanished  round  the  ship's  counter  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye.  The  defenders,  engaged  on  the  port  side,  were 
going  to  be  taken  in  the  rear.  We  were  then  so  close  to  the 
counter  that  the  cries  of  "  Death,  death,"  rang  over  our  heads.  A 
voice  on  the  poop  said  furiously  in  English,  "  Stand  fast,  men." 
Next  moment,  we,  too,  rounded  the  quarter  only  twenty  feet  behind 
the  big  boat,  but  with  a  slightly  wider  sweep. 

I  said,  "  Have  the  pistols  ready,  Seraphina."  And  she  answered 
quite  steadily: 

"  They  are  ready,  Juan." 

I  could  not  have  believed  that  any  handiwork  of  man  afloat 
could  have  got  so  much  way  through  the  water.  To  this  very 
day  I  am  not  rid  of  the  absurd  impression  that,  at  that  particular 
moment,  the  dingey  was  traveling  with  us  as  fast  as  a  cannon-ball. 
No  sooner  round  than  we  were  upon  them.  We  were  upon  them 
so  fast  that  I  had  barely  the  time  to  fling  away  my  oar,  and  close 
my  grip  on  the  butt  of  the  pistols  Seraphina  pressed  into  my  hand 
from  behind.  Castro,  too,  had  dropped  his  oar,  and,  turning  as 
swift  as  a  cat,  crouched  in  the  bows.  I  saw  his  good  arm  darting 
out  towards  their  boat. 

They  had  cast  a  grapnel  cleverly,  and,  swung  abreast  of  the 
main  chains,  were  grimly  busied  in  boarding  the  undefended  side 
in  silence.  One  had  already  his  leg  over  the  ship's  rail,  and  below 
him  three  more  were  clambering  resolutely,  one  above  the  other. 
The  rest  of  them,  standing  up  in  a  body  with  their  faces  to  the 


224  ROMANCE 

ship,  were  so  oblivious  of  everything  in  their  purpose,  that  they 
staggered  all  together  to  the  shock  of  the  dingey,  heavily,  as  if 
the  earth  had  reeled  under  them. 

Castro  knew  what  he  was  doing.  I  saw  his  only  handdiop  along 
the  gunwale,  dragging  our  cockle-shell  forward  very  swiftly.  The 
tottering  Spaniards  turned  their  heads,  and  for  a  moment  we  looked 
at  each  other  in  silence. 

I  was  too  excited  to  shout ;  the  surprise  seemed  to  have  deprived 
them  of  their  senses,  and  they  all  had  the  same  grin  of  teeth  closed 
upon  the  naked  blades  of  their  knives,  the  same  stupid  stare  fas- 
tened upon  my  eyes.  I  pulled  the  trigger  in  the  nearest  face,  and 
the  terrific  din  of  the  fight  going  on  above  us  was  overpowered  by 
the  report  of  the  pistol,  as  if  by  a  clap  of  thunder.  The  man's 
gaping  mouth  dropped  the  knife,  and  he  stood  stiffly  long  enough 
for  the  thought,  "  I've  missed  him,"  to  flash  through  my  mind 
before  he  tumbled  clean  out  of  the  boat  without  touching  anything, 
like  a  wooden  dummy  tipped  by  the  heels.  His  headlong  fall  sent 
the  water  flying  high  over  the  stern  of  the  dingey.  With  the 
second  barrel  I  took  a  long  shot  at  the  man  sitting  amazed,  astride 
of  the  rail  above.  I  saw  him  double  up  suddenly,  and  fall  inboard 
sideways,  but  the  fellow  following  him  made  a  convulsive  effort, 
and  leapt  out  of  sight  on  to  the  deck  of  the  ship.  I  dropped  the 
discharged  weapon,  and  fired  the  first  barrel  of  the  other  at  the 
upper  of  the  two  men  clinging  halfway  up  the  ship's  side.  To  that 
one  shot  they  both  vanished  as  if  by  enchantment,  the  fellow  I  had 
hit  knocking  off  his  friend,  below.  The  crash  of  their  fall  was 
followed  by  a  great  yell. 

These  had  been  all  nearly  point-blank  shots,  and,  anyhow,  I  had 
had  a  good  deal  of  pistol  practice.  Macdonald  had  a  little  gallery 
at  Horton  Pen.  The  Lugarehos,  huddled  together  in  the  boat, 
were  only  able  to  moan  with  terror.  They  made  soft,  pitiful,  com- 
plaining noises.  Two  or  three  took  headers  overboard,  like  so 
many  frogs,  and  then  one  began  to  squeak  exactly  like  a  rat. 

By  that  time,  Castro,  with  his  fixed  blade,  had  cut  their  grapnel 
rope  close  to  the  ring.  As  the  ship  kept  forging  ahead  all  the  time, 
the  boat  of  the  pirate  bumped  aw^ay  lightly  from  between  the 
vessel  and  our  dingey,  and  we  remained  alongside,  holding  to  the 
end  of  the  severed  line.     I  sent  my  fourth  shot  after  them,  and 


PART  FOURTH  225 

got  in  exchange  a  scream  and  a  howl  of  "  Mercy!  mercy!  we  sur- 
render! "  She  swung  clear  of  the  quarter,  all  hushed,  and  faded 
into  the  mist  and  moonlight,  with  the  head  and  arms  of  a  motion- 
less man  hanging  grotesquely  over  the  hows. 

Leaving  Seraphina  with  Castro,  and  sticking  the  remaining 
pair  of  pistols  in  my  belt,  I  swarmed  up  the  rope.  The  moon,  the 
lights  of  several  lanthorns,  the  glare  from  the  open  doors,  mingled 
violently  in  the  steamy  fog  between  the  high  bulwarks  of  the  ship. 
But  the  character  of  the  contest  was  changing,  even  as  I  paused 
on  the  rail  to  get  my  bearings.  The  fellow  who  had  leapt  on 
board  to  escape  my  shot  had  bolted  across  the  deck  to  his  friends 
on  the  other  side,  yelling: 

"  Fly,  fly!  The  heretics  are  coming,  shooting  from  the  sea.  All 
is  lost.    Fly,  oh  fly!" 

He  had  jumped  straight  overboard,  but  the  infection  of  his  panic 
was  already  visible.  The  cries  of  "  Muei'te,  muerte!  Death, 
death!  "  had  ceased,  and  the  Englishmen  were  cheering  ferociously. 
In  a  moment,  under  my  eyes,  the  seamen,  who  had  been  holding 
their  own  with  difficulty  in  a  shower  of  defensive  blows,  began 
to  dart  forward,  striking  out  with  their  fists,  catching  with  their 
hands.  I  jumped  upon  the  main  hatch,  and  found  myself  in  the 
skirt  of  the  final  rush. 

A  tall  Lugareno  had  possessed  himself  of  one  of  the  ship's  cap- 
stan bars,  and,  less  craven  than  the  others,  was  flourishing  it  on 
high,  aiming  at  the  head  of  a  sailor  engaged  in  throttling  a  negro 
whom  he  held  at  the  full  length  of  his  immense  arms.  I  fired,  and 
the  Lugareno  tumbled  down  with  all  the  appearance  of  having 
knocked  himself  over  with  the  bar  he  had  that  moment  uplifted. 
It  rested  across  his  neck  as  he  lay  stretched  at  my  feet. 

I  was  not  able  to  effect  anything  more  after  this,  because  the 
sailor,  after  rushing  his  limp  antagonist  overboard  with  terrific 
force,  turned  raging  for  more,  caught  sight  of  me — an  evident 
stranger — and  flew  at  my  throat.  He  was  English,  but  as  he 
squeezed  my  windpipe  so  hard  that  I  couldn't  utter  a  word  I 
brought  the  butt  of  my  pistol  upon  his  thick  skull  without  the 
slightest  compunction,  for,  indeed,  I  had  to  deal  with  a  powerful 
man,  well  able  to  strangle  me  with  his  bare  hands,  and  very  de- 
termined to  achieve  the  feat.     He  grunted  under  the  blow,  reeled 


226  ROMANCE 

away  a  few  steps,  then,  charging  back  at  once,  gripped  me  round 
the  body,  and  tried  to  lift  me  off  my  feet.  We  fell  together  into 
a  warm  puddle. 

I  had  no  idea  spilt  blood  kept  its  warmth  so  much.  And  the 
quantity  of  it  was  appalling;  the  deck  seemed  to  swim  with  gore, 
and  we  simply  weltered  in  it.  We  rolled  rapidly  along  the  reeking 
scuppers,  amongst  the  feet  of  a  lot  of  men  who  were  hopping  about 
us  in  the  greatest  excitement,  the  hearty  thuds  of  blows,  aimed  with 
all  sorts  of  weapons,  just  missing  my  head.  The  pistol  was  kicked 
out  of  my  hand. 

The  horror  of  my  position  was  very  great.  Must  I  kill  the 
man?  must  I  die  myself  in  this  miserable  and  senseless  manner? 
I  tried  to  shout,  "  Drag  this  maniac  off  me." 

He  was  pinning  my  arms  to  my  body.  I  saw  the  furious  faces 
bending  over  me,  the  many  hands  murderously  uplifted.  They, 
of  course,  couldn't  tell  that  I  wasn't  one  of  the  men  who  had 
boarded  them,  and  my  life  had  never  been  in  such  jeopardy.  I  felt 
all  the  fury  of  rage  and  mortification.  Was  I  to  die  like  this, 
villainously  trodden  underfoot,  on  the  threshold  of  safety,  of 
liberty,  of  love?  And,  in  those  moments  of  violent  struggle  I  saw, 
as  one  sees  in  moments  of  wisdom  and  meditation,  my  soul — all 
life,  lying  under  the  shadow  of  a  perfidious  destiny.  And  Sera- 
phina  was  there  in  the  boat,  waiting  for  me.  The  sea !  The  boat ! 
They  were  in  another  land,  and  I,  I  should  no  more  .  .  .  never 
any  more.  ...  A  sharp  voice  called,  "  Back  there,  men.  Steady. 
Take  him  alive."    They  dragged  me  up. 

I  needn't  relate  by  what  steps,  from  being  terribly  handled  as 
a  captive,  I  was  promoted  to  having  my  arms  shaken  off  in  the 
character  of  a  savior.  But  I  got  any  amount  of  praise  at  last, 
though  I  was  terribly  out  of  breath — at  the  very  last  gasp,  as  you 
might  say.  A  man,  smooth-faced,  well-knit,  very  elated  and 
buoyant,  began  talking  to  me  endlessly.  He  was  mighty  happy, 
and  anyhow  he  could  talk  to  me,  because  I  was  past  doing  any- 
thing but  taking  a  moment's  rest.  He  said  I  had  come  in  the  nick 
time,  and  was  quite  the  best  of  fellows. 

"  If  you  had  a  fancy  to  be  called  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
we'd  '  your  Grace  '  you.     I  am  the  mate,  Sebright.    The  captain's 


PART  FOURTH  227 

gone  in  to  show  himself  to  the  missus ;  she  wouldn't  like  to  have  him 
too  much  chipped.  .  .  .  Wonderful  is  the  love  of  woman.  She 
sat  up  a  bit  later  to-night  with  her  fancy-sewing  to  see  what  might 
turn  up.  I  told  her  at  tea-time  she  had  better  go  in  early  and  shut 
her  stateroom  door,  because  if  any  of  the  Dagos  chanced  to  come 
aboard,  I  couldn't  be  responsible  for  the  language  of  my  crowd. 
We  are  supposed  to  keep  clear  of  profanity  this  trip,  she  being  a 
niece  of  Mr.  Perkins  of  Bristol,  our  owner,  and  a  Methodist.  But, 
hang  it  all,  there's  reason  in  all  things.  You  can't  have  a  ship  like 
a  chapel — though  she  would.  Oh,  bless  3^ou,  she  would,  even  when 
we're  beating  off  these  picaroons." 

I  was  sitting  on  the  afterhatch,  and  leaning  my  head  on  my 
arms. 

"Feel  bad?  Do  you?  Handled  you  like  a  bag  of  shakings. 
Well,  the  boys  got  their  monkey  up,  hammering  the  Dagos.  Here 
you,  Mike,  go  look  along  the  deck,  for  a  double-barreled  pistol. 
Move  yourself  a  bit.    Feel  along  under  the  spars." 

There  was  something  authoritative  and  knowing  in  his  person- 
ality; boyishly  elated  and  full  of  business. 

"  We  must  put  the  ship  to  rights.  You  don't  think  they'd  come 
back  for  another  taste?  The  blessed  old  deck's  afloat.  That's  my 
little  dodge,  boiling  water  for  these  Dagos,  if  they  come.  So  I  got 
the  cook  to  fire  up,  and  we  put  the  suction-hose  of  the  fire  pump 
into  the  boiler,  and  we  filled  the  coppers  and  the  kettles.  Not  a 
bad  notion,  eh  ?  But  ten  times  as  much  wouldn't  have  been  enough, 
and  the  hose  burst  at  the  third  stroke,  so  that  only  one  boat  got 
anything  to  speak  of.  But  Lord,  she  dropped  out  of  the  ruck  as  if 
she'd  been  swept  with  langridge.  Squealed  like  a  litter  of  pigs, 
didn't  they?  " 

What  I  had  taken  for  blood  had  been  the  water  from  the  burst 
hose.  I  must  say  I  was  relieved.  My  new  friend  bubbled  any 
amount  of  joyous  information  into  me  before  I  quite  got  my  wind 
back.  He  rubbed  his  hands  and  clapped  me  on  the  shoulder.  But 
his  heart  was  kind,  and  he  became  concerned  at  my  collapsed  state. 

"  I  say,  you  don't  think  my  chaps  broke  some  of  your  ribs,  do 
you?     Let  me  feel." 

And  then  I  managed  to  tell  him  something  of  Seraphina  that  he 
would  listen  to. 


228  ROMANCE 

"  What,  what?  "  he  said.  "  Oh,  heavens  and  earth!  there's  your 
girl.  Of  course.  .  .  .  Hej^,  bo'sun,  rig  a  whip  and  chair  on  the 
yardarm  to  take  a  lady  on  board.  Bear  a  hand.  A  lady!  yes,  a 
lady.  Confound  it,  don't  lose  your  wits,  man.  Look  over  the 
starboard  rail,  and  you  will  see  a  lady  alongside  with  a  Dago  in  a 
small  boat.  Let  the  Dago  come  on  board,  too ;  the  gentleman  here 
says  he's  a  good  sort.    Now,  do  you  understand?  " 

He  talked  to  me  a  good  deal  more ;  told  me  that  they  had  made 
a  prisoner — "  a  tall,  comical  chap;  wears  his  hair  like  an  old  aunt 
of  mine,  a  bunch  of  curls  flapping  on  each  side  of  his  face  " — and 
then  said  that  he  must  go  and  report  to  Captain  Williams,  who  had 
gone  into  his  wife's  stateroom.    The  name  struck  me.     I  said: 

"  Is  this  ship  the  Lionf  " 

"  Aye,  aye.  That's  her.  She  is,"  several  seamen  answered  to- 
gether, casting  curious  glances  from  their  work. 

"  Tell  your  captain  my  name  is  Kemp,"  I  shouted  after  Sebright 
with  what  strength  of  lung  I  had. 

What  luck!  Williams  was  the  jolly  little  ship's  captain  I  was 
to  have  dined  with  on  the  day  of  execution  on  Kingston  Point — 
the  day  I  had  been  kidnaped.  It  seemed  ages  ago.  I  wanted  to 
get  to  the  side  to  look  after  Seraphina,  but  I  simply  couldn't  re- 
member how  to  stand.     I  sat  on  the  hatch,  looking  at  the  seamen. 

They  were  clearing  the  ropes,  collecting  the  lamps,  picking  up 
knives,  handspikes,  crowbars,  swabbing  the  decks  with  squashy 
flaps.  A  bare-footed,  barearmed  fellow,  holding  a  bundle  of  brass- 
hilted  cutlasses  under  his  arm,  had  lost  himself  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  my  person. 

"  Where  are  you  bound  to?  "  I  inquired  at  large,  and  everybody 
showed  a  friendly  alacrity  in  answer. 

"  Havana."  "  Havana,  sir."  "  Havana's  our  next  port.  Aye, 
Havana." 

The  deck  rang  with  modulations  of  the  name. 

I  heard  a  loud,  "  Alas,"  sighed  out  behind  me.  A  distracted, 
stricken  voice  repeated  twice  in  Spanish,  "Oh,  my  greatness;  oh, 
my  greatness."  Then,  shiveringly,  in  a  tone  of  profound  self- 
communion,  "  I  have  a  greatly  parched  throat,"  it  said.  Harshly 
jovial  voices  answered : 

"  Stow  your  lingo  and  come  before  the  captain.     Step  along." 


PART  FOURTH  229 

A  prisoner,  conducted  aft,  stalked  reluctantly  into  the  light  be- 
tween two  short,  bustling  sailors.  Disheveled  black  hair  like  a 
damaged  peruke,  mournful,  yellow  face,  enormous  stag's  eyes 
straining  down  on  me.  I  recognized  Manuel-del-Popolo.  At  the 
same  moment  he  sprang  back,  shrieking,  "  This  is  a  miracle  of  the 
devil — of  the  devil." 

The  sailors  fell  to  tugging  at  his  arms  savagely,  asking,  "  What's 
come  to  you?  "  and,  after  a  short  struggle  that  shook  his  tatters 
and  his  raven  locks  tempestuously  like  a  gust  of  wind,  he  submitted 
to  be  walked  up;  repeating: 

"  Is  it  you,  senor?     Is  it  you?     Is  it  youf  " 

One  of  his  shoulders  was  bare  from  neck  to  elbow ;  at  every  step 
one  of  his  knees  and  part  of  a  lean  thigh  protruded  their  nakedness 
through  a  large  rent;  a  strip  of  grimy,  blood-stained  linen,  torn 
right  down  to  the  waist,  dangled  solemnly  in  front  of  his  legs. 
There  was  a  horrible  raw  patch  amongst  the  roots  of  his  hair  just 
above  his  temple;  there  was  blood  in  his  nostrils,  the  stamp  of 
excessive  anguish  on  his  features,  a  sort  of  guarded  despair  in  his 
eye.    His  voice  sank  while  he  said  again,  twice: 

"  Is  it  you?  Is  it  you?  "  And  then,  for  the  last  time,  "  Is  it 
you?  "  he  repeated  in  a  whisper. 

The  seamen  formed  a  wide  ring,  and,  looking  at  me,  he  talked 
to  himself  confidentially. 

"  Escaped — the  Inglez!  Then  thou  art  doomed,  Domingo. 
Domingo,  thou  art  doomed.     Dom   .    .    .    Senor!" 

The  change  of  tone,  his  effort  to  extend  his  hands  towards  me, 
surprised  us  all.    I  looked  away. 

"  Hold  hard !    Hold  him,  mate!  " 

"  Senor,  condescend  to  behold  my  downfall.  I  am  led  here  to 
the  slaughter,  seiior!  To  the  slaughter,  senor!  Pity!  Grace! 
Mercy!  And  only  a  short  while  ago — behold.  Slaughter  .  .  . 
I  .  ,  .  Manuel.  Senor,  I  am  universally  admired — with  a 
parched  throat,  senor.  I  could  compose  a  song  that  would 
make  a  priest  weep.  ...  A  greatly  parched  throat,  seiior,"  he 
added  piteously. 

I  could  not  help  turning  my  head.  I  had  not  been  used  half  as 
hard  as  he.  It  was  enough  to  look  at  him  to  believe  in  the  dryness  of 
his  throat.   Under  the  matted  mass  of  his  hair,  he  was  grinning  in 


230  ROMANCE 

amiable  agon}',  and  his  globular  eyes  yearned  upon  me  with  a 
motionless  and  glassy  luster. 

"You  have  not  forgotten  me,  senor?  Forget  Manuel!  Im- 
possible! Manuel,  senor.  For  the  love  of  God.  Manuel. 
Manuel-del-Popolo.  I  did  sing,  deign  to  remember.  I  offered 
you  my  fidelity,  senor.  As  you  are  a  caballeroj  I  charge  you  to 
remember.  Save  me,  senor.  Speak  to  those  men.  .  .  .  For  the 
sake  of  your  honor,  senor." 

His  voice  was  extraordinarily  harsh — not  his  own.  Apparently, 
he  believed  that  he  was  going  to  be  cut  to  pieces  there  and  then 
by  the  sailors.  He  seemed  to  read  it  in  their  faces,  shuddering 
and  shrinking  whenever  he  raised  his  eyes.  But  all  these  faces 
gaped  with  good-natured  wonder,  except  the  faces  of  his  two 
guardians,  and  these  expressed  a  state  of  conscientious  worry. 
They  were  ridiculously  anxious  to  suppress  his  sudden  contortions, 
as  one  would  some  gross  indecency.  In  the  scuffle  they  hissed  and 
swore  under  their  breath.  They  were  scandalized  and  made  un- 
happy by  his  behavior. 

"  Are  you  ready  down  there?  "  roared  the  bo'sun  in  the  waist. 

"  Olla  raight !  Olla  raight !  Waita  a  leetle,"  I  heard  Castro's 
voice  coming,  as  if  from  under  the  ship.  I  said  coldly  a  few  words 
about  the  certain  punishment  awaiting  a  pirate  in  Havana,  and  got 
on  to  my  feet  stiffly.  But  Manuel  was  too  terrified  to  understand 
what  I  meant.  He  attempted  to  snatch  at  me  with  his  imprisoned 
hands,  and  got  for  his  pains  a  severe  jerking,  which  made  his  head 
roll  about  his  shoulders  weirdly. 

"  Pity,  senor!  "  he  screamed.  And  then,  with  low  fervor, 
"  Don't  go  away.  Listen !  I  am  profound.  Perhaps  the  senor 
did  not  know  that?  Mercy!  I  am  a  man  of  intrigue.  A  politico. 
You  have  escaped,  and  I  rejoice  at  it."  .  .  .  He  bared  his  fangs, 
and  frothed  like  a  mad  dog.  ..."  Seiior,  I  am  made  happy  be- 
cause of  the  love  I  bore  you  from  the  first — and  Domingo,  who  let 
you  slip  out  of  the  Casa,  is  doomed.  He  is  doomed.  Thou  art 
doomed,  Domingo!  But  the  excessive  affection  for  your  noble 
person  inspires  my  intellect  with  a  salutary  combination.  Wait, 
senor!    A  moment!    An  instant!   .   .   .    A  combination !    .    .   ." 

He  gasped  as  though  his  heart  had  burst.  The  seamen,  open- 
mouthed,  were  slowly  narrowing  their  circle. 


PART  FOURTH  231 

"Can't  he  gabble!  "  remarked  someone  patiently. 

His  eyes  were  starting  out  of  his  head.  He  spoke  with  fearful 
rapidity. 

"...  There's  no  refuge  from  the  anger  of  the  Juez  but  the 
grave — the  grave — the  grave!  .  .  .  Ha!  ha!  Go  into  thy  grave, 
Domingo.  But  you,  senor — listen  to  my  supplications — where  will 
you  go?  To  Havana.  The  Juez  is  there,  and  I  call  the  maledic- 
tion of  the  priests  on  my  head  if  you,  too,  are  not  doomed.  Life! 
Liberty!  Senor,  let  me  go,  and  I  shall  run — I  shall  ride,  senor — 
I  shall  throw  myself  at  the  feet  of  the  Juez,  and  say  ...  I  shall 
say  I  killed  you.  I  am  greatly  trusted  by  the  reason  of  my  superior 
intelligence.  I  shall  say,  *  Domingo  let  him  go — but  he  is  dead. 
Think  of  him  no  more — of  that  Inglez  who  escaped — from  Do- 
mingo. Do  not  look  for  him.  I,  your  own  Manuel,  have  killed 
him.'  Give  me  my  life  for  yours,  senor.  I  shall  swear  I  had  killed 
you  with  this  right  hand !     Ah !  " 

He  hung  on  my  lips  breathless,  with  a  face  so  distorted  that, 
though  it  might  have  been  death  alone  he  hated,  he  looked,  indeed, 
as  if  impatient  to  set  to  and  tear  me  to  pieces  with  his  long  teeth. 
Men  clutching  at  straws  must  have  faces  thus  convulsed  by  an 
eager  and  despairing  hope.  His  silence  removed  the  spell — ^the 
spell  of  his  incredible  loquacity.  I  heard  the  boatswain's  hoarse 
tones : 

"  Hold  on  well,  ma'am.  Right!  Walk  away  steady  with  that 
whip!" 

I  ran  limping  forward. 

"  High  enough,"  he  rumbled  j  and  I  received  Seraphina  into  my 
arms. 


CHAPTER  IV 

I  SAID,  "This  is  home,  at  last.  It  is  all  over";  and  she 
stood  by  me  on  the  deck.  She  pushed  the  heavy  black  cloak 
from  over  her  head,  and  her  white  face  appeared  above  the 
dim  black  shadow  of  her  mourning.  She  looked  silently  round  her 
on  the  mist,  the  groups  of  rough  men,  the  spatterings  of  light  that 
were  like  violence,  too.  She  said  nothing,  but  rested  her  hand  on 
my  arm. 

She  had  her  immense  griefs,  and  this  was  the  home  I  offered  her. 
She  looked  back  at  the  side.  I  thought  she  would  have  liked  to 
be  in  the  boat  again.    I  said : 

"  The  people  in  this  ship  are  my  old  friends.  You  can  trust 
them — and  me." 

Tomas  Castro,  clambering  leisurely  over  the  side,  followed.  As 
soon  as  his  feet  touched  the  deck,  he  threw  the  corner  of  his  cloak 
across  his  left  shoulder,  bent  down  half  the  rim  of  his  hat,  and 
assumed  the  appearance  of  a  short,  dark  conspirator,  overtopped 
by  the  stalwart  sailors,  who  had  abandoned  Manuel  to  crowd, 
bare-armed,  bare-chested,  pushing,  and  craning  their  necks,  round 
us. 

She  said,  "  I  can  trust  you ;  it  is  my  duty  to  trust  you,  and  this  is 
now  my  home." 

It  was  like  a  definite  pronouncement  of  faith — and  of  a  line  of 
policy.  She  seemed,  for  that  moment,  quite  apart  from  my  love, 
a  thing  very  much  above  me  and  mine;  closed  up  in  an  immense 
grief,  but  quite  whole-souledly  determined  to  go  unflinchingly  into 
a  new  life,  breaking  quietly  with  all  her  past  for  the  sake  of  the 
traditions  of  all  that  past. 

The  sailors  fell  back  to  make  way  for  us.  It  was  only  by  the 
touch  of  her  hand  on  my  arm  that  I  had  any  hope  that  she  trusted 
me,  me  personally,  and  apart  from  the  commands  of  the  dead 
Carlos;  the  dead  father,  and  the  great  weight  of  her  dead  tradi- 
tions that  could  be  never  anything  any  more  for  her — except  a 

232 


PART  FOURTH  233 

memory.  Ah,  she  stood  it  very  well ;  her  head  was  erect  and  proud. 
The  cabin  door  opened,  and  a  rigid  female  figure  with  dry  outlines, 
and  a  smooth  head,  stood  out  with  severe  simplicity  against 
the  light  of  the  cabin  door.  The  light  falling  on  Seraphina 
seemed  to  show  her  for  the  first  time.  A  lamentable  voice 
bellowed : 

"  Senorita!  .  .  .  Senorita!  "  and  then,  in  an  insinuating,  heart- 
breaking tone,  "  Seiiorita!    .    .    ." 

She  walked  quietly  past  the  figure  of  the  woman,  and  disappeared 
in  the  brilliant  light  of  the  cabin.  The  door  closed.  I  remained 
standing  there.  Manuel,  at  her  disappearance,  raised  his  voice  to 
a  tremendous,  incessant  yell  of  despair,  as  if  he  expected  to  make 
her  hear, 

"  Senorita  .  .  .  proteccion  del  opprimido ;  oh,  liija  de  piedad 
.    .   .   Senorita." 

His  lamentable  noise  brought  half  the  ship  round  us;  the  sailors 
fell  back  before  the  mate,  Sebright,  walking  at  the  elbow  of  a 
stout  man  in  loose  trousers  and  jacket.    They  stopped. 

"  An  unexpected  meeting.  Captain  Williams,"  was  all  I  found 
to  say  to  him.  He  had  a  constrained  air,  and  shook  hands  in 
awkward  silence. 

"How  do  you  do?"  he  said  hurriedly.  After  a  moment  he 
addded,  with  a  sort  of  confused,  as  if  oi^cial  air,  "  I  hope,  Kemp, 
you'll  be  able  to  explain  satisfactorily   .   .   ." 

I  said,  rather  off-handedly,  "  Why,  the  two  men  I  killed  ought 
to  be  credentials  enough  for  all  immediate  purposes!  " 

''  That  isn't  what  I  meant,"  he  said.  He  spoke  rather  with  a 
mumble,  and  apologetically.  It  was  difficult  to  see  in  him  any 
trace  of  the  roystering  Williams  who  had  roared  toasts  to  my 
health  in  Jamaica,  after  the  episode  at  the  Ferry  Inn  with  the 
admiral.  It  was  as  if,  now,  he  had  a  weight  on  his  mind.  I  was 
tired.     I  said : 

"  Two  dead  men  is  more  than  you  or  any  of  your  crew  can  show. 
And,  as  far  as  I  can  judge,  you  did  no  more  than  hold  your  own 
till  I  came," 

He  positively  stuttered,  "  Yes,  yes.    But  .  ,  ." 

I  got  angry  with  what  seemed  stupid  obstinacy. 

"  You'd  be  having  a  rope  twisted  tight  round  your  head,  or 


234  ROMANCE 

red-hot  irons  at  the  soles  of  your  feet,  at  this  very  moment,  if  it 
had  not  been  for  us,"  I  said  indignantly. 

He  wiped  his  forehead  perplexedly.  "  Phew,  how  you  do  talk!  " 
he  remonstrated.  "  What  I  mean  is  that  my  wife  .  ,  ."  He 
stopped  again,  then  went  on.  "  She  took  it  into  her  head  to  come 
with  me  this  voyage.  For  the  first  time.  .  .  .  And  you  two 
coming  alone  in  an  open  boat  like  this!  It's  what  she  isn't  used 
to." 

I  simply  couldn't  get  at  what  he  meant;  I  couldn't  even  hear 
him  very  well,  because  Manuel-del-Popolo  was  still  calling  out 
to  Seraphina  in  the  cabin.  Williams  and  I  looked  at  each  other 
—he  embarrassed,  and  I  utterly  confounded. 

"  Mrs.  Williams  thinks  it's  irregular,"  Sebright  broke  in,  "  you 
and  your  young  lady  being  alone — in  an  open  boat  at  night,  and 
that  sort  of  thing.    It  isn't  what  they  approve  of  at  Bristol." 

Manuel  suddenly  bellowed  out,  "  Senorita — save  me  from  their 
barbarity.  I  am  a  victim.  Behold  their  bloody  knives  ready — 
and  their  eyes  which  gloat." 

He  shrank  convulsively  from  the  fellow  with  the  bundle  of  cut- 
lasses under  his  arm,  who  innocently  pushed  his  way  close  to  him ; 
he  threw  himself  forward,  the  two  sailors  hung  back  on  his  arms, 
nearly  sitting  on  the  deck,  and  he  strained  dog-like  in  his  intense 
fear  of  immediate  death.  Williams,  however,  really  seemed  to 
want  an  answer  to  his  absurdity  that  I  could  not  take  very  seri- 
ously.    I  said: 

"What  do  you  expect"  us  to  do?  Go  back  to  our  boat,  or 
what?" 

It  seemed  to  affect  him  a  good  deal.  "  Wait  till  you  are  caught 
by  a  good  woman  yourself,"  he  mumbled  wretchedly. 

Was  this  the  roystering  Williams?  The  jolly  good  fellow? 
I  wanted  to  laugh,  a  little  hysterically,  because  of  the  worry  after 
great  fatigue.  Was  his  wife  such  a  terrifying  virago?  "A  good 
woman,"  Williams  insisted.  I  turned  my  eyes  to  Sebright,  who 
looked  on  amusedly. 

"  It's  all  right,"  he  answered  my  questioning  look.  "  She's  a 
good  soul,  but  she  doesn't  see  fellows  like  us  in  the  congregation 
she  worships  with  at  home."  Then  he  whispered  in  my  car, 
"  Owner's  niece.    Older  than  the  skipper.    Married  him  for  love. 


PART  FOURTH  235 

Suspects  every  woman — every  man,  too,  by  George,  except  me, 
perhaps.  She's  learned  life  in  some  back  chapel  in  Bristol.  What 
can  you  expect?    You  go  straight  into  the  cabin,"  he  added. 

At  that  moment  the  cabin  door  opened  again,  and  the  figure  of 
the  woman  I  had  seen  before  reappeared  against  the  light. 

"  I  was  allowed  to  stand  under  the  gate  of  the  Casa,  Excellency, 
I  was  in  very  truth.  Oh,  turn  not  the  light  of  your  face  from 
me."  Manuel,  who  had  been  silent  for  a  minute,  immediately 
recommenced  his  clamor  in  the  hope,  I  suppose,  that  it  would 
reach  Seraphina's  ears,  now  the  door  was  opened. 

"  What  is  to  be  done,  Owen?  "  the  woman  asked,  with  a  seren- 
ity I  thought  very  merciless. 

She  had  precisely  the  air  of  having  someone  "  in  the  house," 
someone  rather  questionable  that  you  want,  at  home,  to  get  rid  of, 
as  soon  as  a  very  small  charity  permitted. 

"  Madam,"  I  said  rather  coldly,  "  I  appeal  to  your  woman's 
compassion.   .   .   ." 

"  Even  thus  the  arch-enemy  sets  his  snares,"  she  retorted  on  me 
a  little  tremulously. 

"  Senorita,  I  have  seen  you  grow,"  Manuel  called  again.  "  Your 
father,  who  is  with  the  saints,  gave  me  alms  when  I  was  a  boy. 
Will  you  let  them  kill  a  man  to  whom  your  father   .   .   ." 

"  Snares.  All  snares.  Can  she  be  blessed  in  going  away  from 
her  natural  guardians  at  night,  alone,  with  a  young  man?  How 
can  we,  consistently  with  our  duty  .   .  ." 

Her  voice  was  cold  and  gentle.  Even  in  the  imperfect  light  her 
appearance  suggested  something  cold  and  monachal.  The  thought 
of  what  she  might  have  been  saying,  or,  in  the  subtle  way  of  women, 
making  Seraphina  feel,  in  there,  made  me  violently  angry,  but 
lucid,  too. 

"  She  comes  straight  from  the  fresh  grave  of  her  father,"  I  said. 
"  I  am  her  only  guardian." 

Manuel  rose  to  the  height  of  his  appeal.  "  Senorita,  I  wor- 
shiped your  childhood,  I  threw  my  hat  in  the  air  many  times  be- 
fore your  coach,  when  you  drove  out  all  in  white,  smiling,  an  angel 
from  paradise.    Excellency,  help  me.    Excel   .   .   ." 

A  hand  was  clapped  on  his  mouth  then,  and  we  heard  only  a 
great  scuffle  going  on  behind  us.     The  way  to  the  cozy  cabin  re- 


236  ROMANCE 

mained  barred.  My  heart  was  kindled  by  resentment,  but  by  the 
power  of  love  my  soul  was  made  tranquil,  for  come  what  absurdity 
might,  I  had  Seraphina  safe  for  the  time.  The  woman  in  the 
doorway  guarded  the  respectable  ship's  cuddy  from  the  unwedded 
vagabondage  of  romance. 

"  What's  to  be  done,  Owen?  "  she  asked  again,  but  this  time  a 
little  irresolutely,  I  thought.  "  You  know  something  of  this — 
but  I.  .  .   ." 

"My  dear,  what  an  idea,"  began  Williams;  and  I  heard  his 
helpless  mutters,  "  Like  a  hero — one  evening — admiral — old  Top- 
nambo — nothing  of  her — on  my  soul — Lord's  son   .   .  ." 

Sebright  spoke  up  from  the  side.  "  We  could  drive  them  over- 
board together,  certainly,  Mrs.  Williams,  but  that  wouldn't  be 
quite  proper,  perhaps.  Put  them  each  in  a  bag,  separately,  and 
drown  them  one  on  each  side  of  the  ship,  decently.   .   .   ." 

"  You  will  not  put  me  off  with  your  ungodly  levity,  Mr.  Se- 
bright." 

"  But  I  am  perfectly  serious,  Mrs.  Williams.  It  may  raise  a 
mutiny  amongst  these  horrid,  profane  sailors,  but  I  really  don't 
see  how  we  are  to  get  rid  of  them  else.  The  bo'sun  has  cut  adrift 
their  ramshackle,  old  sieve  of  a  boat,  and  she's  now  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  astern,  half-full  of  water.  And  we  can't  give  them  one  of  the 
ship's  boats  to  go  and  get  their  throats  cut  ashore.  J.  Perkins, 
Esquire,  wouldn't  like  it.  He  would  swear  something  awful,  if 
the  boat  got  lost.  Now,  don't  say  no,  Mrs.  Williams.  I've  heard 
him  myself  swear  a  pound"'s  worth  of  oaths  for  a  matter  of  ten- 
pence.  You  know  very  well  what  your  uncle  is.  A  perfect  Turk 
in  that  way." 

"  Don't  be  scandalous,  Mr.  Sebright." 

"  But  I  didn't  begin,  Mrs.  Williams.  It's  you  who  are  raising 
all  this  trouble  for  nothing;  because,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  did 
not  come  alone.  They  had  a  man  with  them.  An  elderly,  most 
respectable  man.  There  he  stands,  yonder,  with  a  feather  in  his 
hat.  Hey!  You!  Senor  caballero,  hidalgo,  Pedro — Miguel — 
Jose- — 'what's  your  particular  saint?    Step  this  way  a  bit   .    .   ." 

Manuel  managed  to  jerk  a  half-choked  "  Excellency,"  and 
Castro,  muffled  up  to  the  ej'^es,  began  to  walk  slowly  aft,  pausing 
after  each  solemn  stride.     The  dark  woman  in  the  doorway  was 


PART  FOURTH  237 

as  effectual  as  an  angel  with  a  flaming  sword.  She  paralyzed  me 
completely. 

Sebright  dropped  his  voice  a  little.  "  I  don't  see  that's  much 
worse  than  going  off  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  to  get  married 
on  the  quiet ;  all  alone  with  a  man  in  a  hackney  coach — you  know 
you  did — and  being  given  away  by  a  perfect  stranger." 

"  Mr.  Sebright!     Be  quiet!     How  dare  you?   .   .    .   Owen!" 

Williams  made  a  vague,  growling  noise,  but  Sebright,  after 
muttering  hurriedly,  "  It's  all  right,  sir,"  proceeded  with  the  ut- 
most coolness: 

"Why,  all  Bristol  knows  it!  There  are  those  who  said  that 
you  got  out  of  the  scullery  window  into  the  back  street.  I  am 
only  telling  you   .   .   ." 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  to  believe  such  tales," 
she  cried  in  great  agitation.    "  I  walked  out  at  the  gate!  " 

"  Yes.  And  the  gardener's  wife  said  you  must  have  sneaked  the 
key  off  the  nail  by  the  side  of  the  cradle — coming  to  the  lodge  the 
evening  before,  to  see  her  poor,  ailing  baby.  You  ought  to  know 
what  love  brings  the  best  of  us  to.  And  your  uncle  isn't  a  bloody- 
handed  pirate  either.  He's  only  a  good-hearted,  hard-swearing  old 
heathen.  And  you,  too,  are  good-hearted.  Come,  Mrs.  Williams. 
I  know  you're  just  longing  to  tuck  this  young  lady  up  in  bed — 
poor  thing.  Think  what  she  has  gone  through!  You  ought  to 
be  fussing  with  sherry  and  biscuits  and  what  not — making  that 
good-for-nothing  steward  fly  round.  The  beggar  is  hiding  in  the 
lazarette,  I  bet.     Now  then — allow  me." 

I  got  hold  of  the  matter  there  again.  I  said — because  I  felt 
that  the  matter  only  needed  making  clear: 

"  This  young  lady  is  the  daughter  of  a  great  Spanish  noble. 
Her  father  was  killed  by  these  pirates.  I  am  myself  of  noble 
family,  and  I  am  her  appointed  guardian,  and  am  trying  to  save 
her  from  a  very  horrible  fate." 

She  looked  at  me  apprehensively. 

"  You  would  be  committing  a  wicked  act  to  try  to  interfere 
with  this,"  I  said. 

I  suppose  I  carried  conviction. 

"  I  must  believe  what  you  say,"  she  said.  She  added  suddenly, 
with  a  sort  of  tremulous,  warm  feeling,  "  There,  there.     I  don't 


238  ROMANCE 

mean  to  be  unkind.  I  knew  nothing,  and  a  married  woman  can't 
be  too  careful.  For  all  I  could  have  told,  you  might  have  been 
a — a  libertine;  one  of  the  poor  lost  souls  that  Satan   .   .   ." 

Manuel,  as  if  struggling  with  the  waves,  managed  to  free  his  lips. 

"  Excellency,  help!  "  he  spluttered,  like  a  drowning  man. 

"  I  will  give  the  young  lady  every  care,"  Mrs.  Williams  said, 
"  until  light  shall  be  vouchsafed." 

She  shut  the  door. 

"  You  will  go  too  far,  Sebright,"  Williams  remonstrated ;  "  and 
I'll  have  to  give  you  the  sack." 

"  It's  all  right,  captain.  I  can  turn  her  round  my  little  finger," 
said  the  young  man  cheerily.  "  Somebody  has  to  do  it  if  you 
won't — or  can't.  What  shall  w^e  do  with  that  yelping  Dago?  He's 
a  distressful  beast  to  have  about  the  decks." 

"  Put  him  in  the  coal-hole,  I  suppose,  as  far  as  Havana.  I 
won't  rest  till  I  see  him  on  his  way  to  the  gallows.  The  Captain- 
General  shall  be  made  sick  of  this  business,  or  my  name  isn't 
Williams.  I'll  make  a  breeze  over  it  at  home.  You  shall  help  in 
that,  Kemp.  You  aint  afraid  of  big-wigs.  Not  you.  You  aint 
afraid  of  anything.   .   .   ." 

"  He's  a  devil  of  a  fellow,  and  a  dead  shot,"  threw  in  Sebright. 
"  And  jolly  lucky  for  us,  too,  sir.  It's  simply  marvelous  that  you 
should  turn  up  like  this,  Mr.  Kemp.  We  hadn't  a  grain  of  powder 
that  wasn't  caked  solid  in  the  canisters.  Nothing  '11  take  it  out 
of  my  head  that  somebody  had  got  at  the  magazine  while  we  lay  in 
Kingston.   ..." 

It  did  not  occur  to  Williams  to  ask  whether  I  was  wounded,  or 
tired,  or  hungry.  And  yet  all  through  the  West  Indies  the  dinners 
you  got  on  board  the  Lion  were  famous  in  shipping  circles.  But 
festive  men  of  his  stamp  are  often  like  that.  They  do  it  more  for 
the  glory  and  romance  of  the  hospitality,  and  he  could  not,  per- 
haps, under  the  circumstances,  expect  me  to  intone  "  for  he  is  a 
jolly  good  fellow  "  over  the  wine.  He  was  by  no  means  a  bad 
or  unfeeling  man;  only  he  was  not  hungry  himself,  and  another's 
mere  necessity  of  that  sort  failed  to  excite  his  imagination.  I  know 
he  was  no  worse  than  other  men,  and  I  have  reason  to  remember 
him  with  gratitude;  but,  at  the  time,  I  was  surprised  and  indig- 
nant at  the  extraordinary  way  he  took  my  presence  for  granted, 


PART  FOURTH  239 

as  if  I  had  come  off  casually  in  a  shore  boat  to  idle  away  an  hour 
or  two  on  board.  Since  his  wife  appeared  satisfied,  he  did  not 
seem  to  desire  any  explanation.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  for  him 
no  independent  existence.  When  I  had  ceased  to  be  a  source 
of  domestic  difficulty,  I  became  a  precious  sort  of  convenience,  a 
most  welcome  person  ("  an  English  gentleman  to  back  me  up," 
he  repeated  several  times),  who  would  help  him  to  make  "  these 
old  women  at  the  Admiralty  sit  up!  "  A  burning  shame,  this!  It 
had  gone  on  long  enough,  God  knows,  but  if  they  were  to  tackle 
an  old  trader,  like  the  Lion,  now,  it  was  time  the  whole  country 
should  hear  of  it.  His  owner,  J.  Perkins,  his  wife's  uncle,  wasn't 
the  man  to  go  to  sleep  over  the  job.  Parliament  should  hear  of 
it.  Most  fortunate  I  was  there  to  be  produced — eye-witness — 
nobleman's  son.    Fie  knew  I  could  speak  up  in  a  good  cause. 

"  And  by  the  way,  Kemp,"  he  said,  with  sudden  annoyance, 
recollecting  himself,  as  it  were,  "you  never  turned  up  for  that 
dinner — sent  no  word,  nor  anything.   .   .   ." 

Williams  had  been  talking  to  me,  but  it  was  with  Sebright  that 
I  felt  myself  growing  intimate.  The  young  mate  of  the  Lion 
stood  by,  very  quiet,  listening  v-ith  a  capable  smile.  Now  he  said, 
in  a  tone  of  dry  comment : 

"  Jolly  sight  more  useful  turning  up  here." 

"  I  was  kidnaped  away  from  Ramon's  back  5hop,  if  that's  a 
sufficient  apology.     It's  rather  a  long  story." 

"Well,  you  can't  tell  it  on  deck,  that's  very  cleai,"  Sebright 
had  to  shout  to  me.  "  Not  while  this  infernal  noise — what  the 
deuce's  up?    It  sounds  more  like  a  dog-fight  than  anything  elsfc.* 

As  we  ran  towards  the  main  hatch  I  recognized  the  aptness  of 
the  comparison.  It  was  that  sort  of  vicious,  snarling,  yelping 
clamor  which  arises  all  at  once  and  suddenly  dies. 

"Castro!    Thou  Castro!" 

"  Malediction   .   .   .   My  eyelids  ..." 

"Thou!     Englishman's  dog!" 

"Ha!    Porco." 

The  voices  ceased.  Castro  ran  tiptoeing  lightly,  mantled  in 
ample  folds.  He  assumed  his  hat  with  a  brave  tap,  crouched 
swiftly  inside  his  cloak.  It  touched  the  deck  all  round  in  a  black 
cone  surmounted  by  a  peering,  quivering  head.    Quick  as  thought 


240  ^\  ROMANCE 

he  hopped  and' sank  low  again.  Everybody  watched  with  wonder 
this  play,  as  of  some  large  and  diabolic  toy.  For  my  part,  know- 
ing the  deadly^  purpose  of  these  preliminaries,  I  was  struck  with 
horror.  Had  Hi'  chosen  to  run  on  him  at  once,  nothing  could  have 
saved  Manuel.  '•  The  poor  wretch,  vigorously  held  in  front  of 
Castro,  was  iaf  too  terrified  to  make  a  sound.  With  an  immovable 
sailor  on  eacK(-side,  he  scuffled  violently,  and  cowered  by  starts 
as  if  tied  up'  between  two  stone  posts.  His  dumb,  rapid  panting 
was  in  our  ears.    I  shouted : 

"  Stop,  Castro !  Stop !  .  .  .  Stop  him,  some  of  you !  He 
means  to  kill  the  fellow!  " 

Nobody  fceeded  my  shouting.  Castro  flung  his  cloak  on  the 
deck,  jumper!  on  it,  kicked  it  aside,  all  in  the  same  moment  as  it 
seemed,  dodged  to  the  right,  to  the  left,  drew  himself  up,  and 
stepped  high,  paunchy  in  his  tight  smalls  and  short  jacket,  making 
all  the  time  a  low,  sibilant  sound,  which  was  perfectly  blood- 
curdling. 

"  He  has  a  blade  on  his  forearm!  "  I  yelled.  "  He's  armed,  I 
tell  you!  " 

No  one  could  comprehend  my  distress.  A  sailor,  raising  a  lamp, 
had  a  broad  smile.  Somebody  laughed  outright.  Castro  planted 
himself  before  Manuel,  nodded  menacingly,  and  stooped  ready  for 
a  spring.  I  was  too  late  in  my  grab  at  his  collar,  but  Manuel's 
guardians,  acting  with  precision,  put  out  one  arm  each  to  meet  his 
rush,  and  he  came  flying  backwards  upon  me,  as  though  he  had  re- 
bounded from  a  wall. 

He  had  almost  knocked  me  down,  and  while  I  staggered  to  keep 
my  feet  the  air  resounded  with  urgent  calls  to  shoot,  to  fire,  to 
bring  him  down!  ..."  Kill  him,  senor!  "  came  in  an  entreating 
yell  from  Castro.  And  I  became  aware  that  Manuel  had  taken 
this  opportunity  to.  wrench  himself  free.  I  heard  the  hard  thud 
of  his  leap.  Straight  from  the  hatch  (as  I  M^as  told  later  by  the 
marveling  sailors)  he  had  alighted  with  both  feet  on  the  rail.  I 
only  saw  him  already  there,  sitting  on  his  heels,  jabbering  and 
nodding  at  us  like  an  enormous  baboon.  "  Shoot,  sir!  Shoot!  " 
"  Kill!    Kill,  senor!     As  you  love  your  life — kill!  " 

Unwittingly,  without  volition,  as  if  compelled  by  the  suggestion 
of  the  bloodthirsty  cries,  my  hand  drew  the  remaining  pistol  out 


PART  FOURTH  241 

of  my  belt.  I  raised  it,  and  found  myself  covering  the  strange 
antics  of  an  infuriated  ape.  He  tore  at  his  flanks  with  both  hands 
in  the  idea,  I  suppose,  of  stripping  for  a  swim.  Rags  flew  from 
him  in  all  directions;  an  astounding  eruption  of  rags  round  a 
huddled-up  figure  crouching,  wildly  active,  in  front  of  the  muzzle. 
I  had  him.  I  was  sure  of  my  shot.  He  was  only  an  ape.  A  dead 
ape.  But  why?  Wherefore?  To  what  end?  What  could  it 
matter  whether  he  lived  or  died.  He  sickened  me,  and  I  pitied 
him,  as  I  should  have  pitied  an  ape. 

I  lowered  my  arm  an  almost  imperceptible  fraction  of  a  second 
before  he  sprang  up  and  vanished.  The  sound  of  the  heavy  plunge 
was  followed  by  a  regretful  clamor  all  over  the  decks,  and  a  gen- 
eral rush  to  the  side.  There  was  nothing  to  be  seen ;  he  had  gone 
through  the  layer  of  fog  covering  the  water.  No  one  heard  him 
blow  or  splutter.   It  was  as  if  a  lump  of  lead  had  fallen  overboard. 

Williams  wouldn't  have  had  this  happen  for  a  five-pound  note. 
Sebright  expressed  the  hope  that  he  wouldn't  cheat  the  gallows 
by  drowning.  The  two  men  who  had  held  him  slunk  away 
abashed.  To  lower  a  boat  for  the  purpose  of  catching  him  in  the 
water  would  have  been  useless  and  imprudent. 

"  His  friends  can't  be  far  off  yet  in  the  boats,"  growled  the 
bo'sun ;  "  and  if  they  don't  pick  him  up,  they  would  be  more  than 
likely  to  pick  up  our  chaps." 

Somebody  expectorated  in  so  marked  a  manner  that  I  looked 
behind  me.  Castro  had  resumed  his  cloak,  and  was  draping  him- 
self with  deliberate  dignity.  When  this  undertaking  had  been 
accomplished,  he  came  up  very  close  to  me,  and  without  a  word 
looked  up  balefully  from  the  heavy  folds  thrown  across  his  mouth 
and  chin  under  the  very  tip  of  his  hooked  nose. 

"  I  could  not  do  it,"  I  said.  "  I  could  not.  It  would  have 
been  useless.    Too  much  like  murder,  Tomas." 

"Oh!  the  inconstancy,  the  fancifulness  of  these  English,"  he 
generalized,  with  suppressed  passion,  right  into  my  face.  "  I  don't 
know  what's  worse,  their  fury  or  their  pity.  The  childishness  of 
it!  The  childishness.  .  .  .  Do  you  imagine,  senor,  that  Manuel 
or  the  Juez  O'Brien  shall  some  day  spare  you  in  their  turn?  If  I 
didn't  know  the  courage  of  your  nation   .   .   ." 

"  I  despise  the  Juez  and  Manuel  alike,"  I  interrupted  angrily. 


242  ROMANCE 

I  despised  Castro,  too,  at  that  moment,  and  he  paid  me  back  with 
interest.    There  was  no  mistaking  his  scathing  tone. 

"  I  know  you  well.  You  scorn  your  friends,  as  well  as  your 
foes.  I  have  seen  so  many  of  you.  The  blessed  saints  guard  us 
from  the  calamity  of  your  friendship.    .    .    ." 

"  No  friendship  could  make  an  assassin  of  me,  Mr.  Castro.  .  .  ." 

".  .  .  Which  is  only  a  very  little  less  calamitous  than  your 
enmity,"  he  continued,  in  a  cold  rage.  "  A  very  little  less.  You 
let  Manuel  go.  .  .  .  Manuel!  .  .  .  Because  of  your  mercy. 
.  .  .  Mercy!  Bah!  It  is  all  your  pride — your  mad  pride.  You 
shall  rue  it,  senor.     Heaven  is  just.    You  shall  rue  it,  senor." 

He  denounced  me  prophetically,  wrapped  up  with  an  air  of 
midnight  secrecy ;  but,  after  all,  he  had  been  a  friend  in  the  act,  if 
not  in  the  spirit,  and  I  contented  myself  by  asking,  with  some  pity 
for  his  imbecile  craving  after  murder: 

"Why?  What  can  Manuel  do  to  me?  He  at  least  is  com- 
pletely helpless." 

"  Did  the  Senor  Don  Juan  ever  ask  himself  what  Manuel  could 
do  to  me — Tomas  Castro?  To  me,  who  am  poor  and  a  vaga- 
bond, and  a  friend  of  Don  Carlos,  may  his  soul  rest  with  God. 
Are  all  you  English  like  princes  that  you  should  never  think  of 
anybody  but  yourselves?  " 

He  revolted  and  provoked  me,  as  if  his  opinion  of  the  English 
could  matter,  or  his  point  of  view  signify  anything  against  the 
authority  of  my  conscience.  And  it  is  our  conscience  that  illumines 
the  romantic  side  of  our  life.  ■  His  point  of  view  was  as  benighted 
and  primitive  as  the  point  of  view  of  hunger;  but,  in  his  fidelity 
to  the  dead  architect  of  my  fortunes,  he  reflected  dimly  the  light 
of  Carlos'  romance,  and  I  had  taken  advantage  of  it,  not  so  much 
for  the  saving  of  my  life  as  for  the  guarding  of  my  love.  I  had 
reached  that  point  when  love  displaces  one's  personality,  when  it 
becomes  the  only  ground  under  our  feet,  the  only  sky  over  our 
head,  the  only  light  of  vision,  the  first  condition  of  thought — when 
we  are  ready  to  strive  for  it,  as  we  fight  for  the  breath  of  our  body. 
Brusquely  I  turned  my  back  on  him,  and  heard  the  repeated  click- 
ing of  flint  against  his  blade.  He  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  crossed 
the  deck  to  lean  cloaked  against  the  bulwark,  smoking  moodily 
under  his  slouched  hat. 


CHAPTER  V 

MANUEL'S  escape  was  the  last  event  of  that  memorable 
night.  Nothing  more  happened,  and  nothing  more 
could  be  done;  but  there  remained  much  talk  and  won- 
derment to  get  through.  I  did  all  the  talking,  of  course,  under 
the  cuddy  lamps.  Williams,  red  and  stout,  sat  staring  at  me 
across  the  table.  His  round  eyes  were  perfectly  motionless  with 
astonishment — the  story  of  what  had  happened  in  the  Casa  Riego 
was  not  what  he  had  expected  of  the  small,  badly  reputed  Cuban 
town. 

Sebright,  who  had  all  the  duties  of  the  soiled  ship  and  chipped 
men  to  attend  to,  came  in  from  the  deck  several  times,  and  would 
stand  listening  for  minutes  with  his  fingers  playing  thoughtfully 
about  his  slight  mustache.  The  dawn  was  not  very  far  when  he 
led  me  into  his  own  cabin.  I  was  half  dead  with  fatigue,  and 
troubled  by  an  inward  restlessness. 

"  Turn  in  into  my  berth,"  said  Sebright. 

I  protested  with  a  stiff  tongue,  but  he  gave  me  a  friendly  push, 
and  I  tumbled  like  a  log  on  to  the  bed-clothes.  As  soon  as  my 
head  felt  the  pillow  the  fresh  coloring  of  his  face  appeared  blurred, 
and  an  arm,  mistily  large,  was  extended  to  put  out  the  light  of  the 
lamp  screwed  to  the  bulkhead. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  there  are  warrants  out  in  Jamaica  against 
you — for  that  row  with  the  admiral,"  he  said. 

An  irresistible  and  unexpected  drowsiness  had  relaxed  all  my 
limbs. 

"  Hang  Jamaica!  "  I  said,  with  difficult  animation.  "We  are 
going  home." 

"  Hang  Jamaica!  "  he  agreed.  Then,  in  the  dark,  as  if  coming 
after  me  across  the  obscure  threshold  of  sleep,  his  voice  meditated, 
"  I  am  sorry,  though,  we  are  bound  for  Havana.  Pity.  Great 
pity!    Has  it  occurred  to  you,  Mr.  Kemp,  that  .   .   ." 

It  is  very  possible  that  he  did  not  finish  his  sentence;  no  more 

243. 


244  ROMANCE 

penetrated,  at  least,  into  my  drowsy  ear.  I  awoke  slowly  from 
a  trance-like  sleep,  with  a  confused  notion  of  having  to  pick  up 
the  thread  of  a  dropped  hint.    I  went  up  on  deck. 

The  sun  shone,  a  faint  breeze  blew,  the  sea  sparkled  freshly,  and 
the  wet  decks  glistened.  I  stood  still,  touched  by  the  new  glory 
of  light  falling  on  me;  it  was  a  new  world — new  and  familiar, 
yet  disturbingly  beautiful.  I  seemed  to  discover  all  sorts  of  secret 
charms  that  I  had  never  seen  in  things  I  had  seen  a  hundred  times. 
The  watch  on  deck  were  busy  with  brooms  and  buckets;  a  sailor, 
coiling  a  rope  over  a  pin,  paused  in  his  work  to  point  over  the 
port-quarter,  with  a  massive  fore-arm  like  a  billet  of  red  ma- 
hogany. 

I  looked  about,  rubbing  my  eyes.  The  Liorij  close-hauled,  was 
heading  straight  away  from  the  coast,  which  stood  out,  not  very 
far  yet,  outlined  heavily  and  flooded  with  light.  Astern,  and  to 
leeward  of  us,  against  a  headland  of  black  and  indigo,  a  dazzling 
white  speck  resembled  a  snowflake  fallen  upon  the  blue  of  the 
sea. 

"  That's  a  schooner,"  said  the  seaman. 

They  were  the  first  words  I  heard  that  morning,  and  their 
friendly  hoarseness  brushed  away  whatever  of  doubt  might  seem 
to  mar  the  inexplicability  of  my  new  glow  of  my  happiness.  It 
was  because  we  were  safe — she  and  I — and  because  my  undis- 
turbed love  let  my  heart  open  to  the  beauty  of  the  young  day 
and  the  joyousness  of  a  splendid  sea.  I  took  deep  breaths,  and  my 
eyes  went  all  over  the  ship,  embracing,  like  an  affectionate  contact, 
her  elongated  shape,  the  flashing  brasses,  the  tall  masts,  the  gentle 
curves  of  her  sails  soothed  into  perfect  stillness  by  the  wind.  I 
felt  that  she  was  a  shrine,  for  was  not  Seraphina  sleeping  in  her, 
as  safe  as  a  child  in  its  cradle?  And  presently  the  beauty,  the 
serenity,  the  purity,  and  the  splendor  of  the  world  would  be  re- 
flected in  her  clear  eyes,  and  made  over  to  me  by  her  glance. 

There  are  times  when  an  austere  and  just  Providence,  in  its 
march  along  the  inscrutable  way,  brings  our  hearts  to  the  test  of 
their  own  unreason.  Which  of  us  has  not  been  tried  by  irrational 
awe,  fear,  pride,  abasement,  exultation?  And  such  moments 
remain  marked  by  indelible  physical  impressions,  standing  out  of 
the  ghostly  level  of  memory  like  rocks  out  of  the  sea,  like  towers 


PART  FOURTH  245 

on  a  plain.  I  had  many  of  these  unforgettable  emotions — the  pro- 
found horror  of  Don  Balthasar's  death;  the  first  floating  of  the 
boat,  like  the  opening  of  wings  in  space ;  the  first  fluttering  of  the 
flames  in  the  fog — many  others  afterwards,  more  cruel,  more 
terrible,  with  a  terror  worse  than  death,  in  which  the  very  suffering 
was  lost ;  and  also  this — this  moment  of  elation  in  the  clear  morn- 
ing, as  if  the  universe  had  shed  its  glory  upon  my  feelings  as  the 
sunshine  glorifies  the  sea.  I  laughed  in  very  lightness  of  heart,  in  a 
profound  sense  of  success;  I  laughed,  irresponsible  and  oblivious, 
as  one  laughs  in  the  thrilling  delight  of  a  dream. 

"Do  I  look  so  confoundedly  silly?"  asked  Sebright,  speaking 
as  though  he  had  a  heavy  cold.  "  I  am  stupid — tired.  I've  been 
on  my  feet  this  twenty-four  hours — about  the  liveliest  in  my  life, 
too.  You  haven't  slept  very  long  either — none  of  us  have.  I'm 
sure  I  hope  your  young  lady  has  rested." 

He  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  He  might  have  been  very 
tired,  but  I  had  never  seen  a  boy  fresh  out  of  bed  with  a  rosier 
face.  The  black  pin-points  of  his  pupils  seemed  to  bore  through 
distance,  exploring  the  horizon  beyond  my  shoulder.  The  man 
called  Mike,  the  one  I  had  had  the  tussle  with  overnight,  came  up 
behind  the  indefatigable  mate,  and  shyly  offered  me  my  pistol. 
His  head  was  bound  over  the  top,  and  under  the  chin,  as  if  for 
toothache,  and  his  bronzed,  rough-hewn  face  looked  out  astonish- 
ingly through  the  snowy  whiteness  of  the  linen.  Only  a  few  hours 
before,  we  had  been  doing  our  best  to  kill  each  other.  In  my 
cordial  glow,  I  bantered  him  light-heartedly  about  his  ferocity  and 
his  strength. 

He  stood  before  me,  patiently  rubbing  the  brown  instep  of  one 
thick  foot  with  the  horny  sole  of  the  other. 

"  You  paid  me  off  for  that  bit,  sir,"  he  said  bashfully.  "  It 
was  in  the  way  of  duty." 

"  I'm  uncommon  glad  you  didn't  squeeze  the  ghost  out  of  me." 
I  said ;  "  a  morning  like  this  is  enough  to  make  you  glad  you  can 
breathe." 

To  this  day  I  remember  the  beauty  of  that  rugged,  grizzled, 
hairy  seaman's  eyelashes.  They  were  long  and  thick,  shadowing 
the  eyes  softly  like  the  lashes  of  a  young  girl. 

"  I'm  sure,  sir,  we  wish  you  luck— to  you  and  the  young  lady — 


246  ROMANCE 

all  of  us,"  he  said  shamefacedly;  and  his  bass,  half-concealed  mutter 
was  quite  as  sweet  to  my  ears  as  a  celestial  melody;  it  was,  after 
all,  the  sanction  of  simple  earnestness  to  my  desires  and  hopes — 
a  witness  that  he  and  his  like  were  on  my  side  in  the  world  of 
Romance. 

"  Well,  go  forward  now,  Mike,"  Sebright  said,  as  I  took  the 
pistol. 

"  It's  a  blessing  to  talk  to  one's  own  people,"  I  said,  expan- 
sively, to  him.  "  He's  a  fine  fellow."  I  stuck  the  pistol  in  my 
belt.  "  I  trust  I  shall  never  need  to  use  barrel  or  butt  again,  as 
long  as  I  live." 

"  A  very  sensible  wish,"  Sebright  answered,  with  a  sort  of  re- 
serve of  meaning  in  his  tone;  "especially  as  on  board  here  we 
couldn't  find  you  a  single  pinch  of  powder  for  a  priming.  Do  you 
notice  the  consort  we  have  this  morning?  " 

"What  do  I  want  with  powder?"  I  asked.  "Do  you  mean 
that?"  I  pointed  to  the  white  sail  of  the  schooner.  Sebright, 
looking  hard  at  me,  nodded  several  times. 

"  We  sighted  her  as  soon  as  day  broke.  D'you  know  what  she 
means?  " 

I  said  I  supposed  she  was  a  coaster. 

"  It  means,  most  likely,  that  the  fellow  with  the  curls  that  made 
me  think  of  my  maiden  aunt,  has  managed  to  keep  his  horse-face 
above  water."  He  meant  Manuel-del-Popolo.  "  What  mischief 
he  may  do  yet  before  he  runs  his  head  into  a  noose,  it's  hard  to 
say.  The  old  Spaniard  you  brought  with  you  thinks  he  has  already 
been  busy — for  no  good,  you  may  be  sure." 

"You  mean  that's  one  of  the  Rio  schooners?"  I  asked 
quickly. 

That,  with  all  its  consequent  troubles  for  me,  was  what  he  did 
mean.  He  said  I  might  take  his  word  for  it  that,  with  the  winds 
we  had  had,  no  craft  working  along  the  coast  could  be  just  there 
now  unless  she  cam.e  out  of  Rio  Medio.  There  was  a  calm  almost 
up  to  sunrise,  and  it  looked  as  if  they  had  towed  her  out  with 
boats  before  daylight.  ..."  Seems  a  rather  unlikely  bit  of 
exertion  for  the  lazy  brutes;  but  if  they  are  as  much  afraid  of  that 
confounded  Irishman  as  you  say  they  are,  that  would  account  for 
their  energy." 


PART  FOURTH  247 

They  would  steal  and  do  murder  simply  for  the  love  of  God, 
but  it  would  take  the  fear  of  a  devil  to  make  them  do  a  bit  of 
honest  work — and  pulling  an  oar  was  honest  work,  no  matter  why 
it  was  done.  This  was  the  combined  wisdom  of  Sebright  and  of 
Tomas  Castro,  with  whom  he  had  been  in  consultation.  As  to 
the  fear  of  the  devil,  O'Brien  was  very  much  like  a  devil,  an 
efficient  substitute.  And  there  was  certainly  somebody  or  some- 
thing to  make  them  bestir  themselves  like  this.   .   .   . 

Before  my  mind  arose  a  scene :  Manuel,  the  night  before,  pulled 
out  of  the  water  into  a  boat — ^raging,  half-drowned,  eloquent,  in- 
spired. The  contemptible  beast  was  inspired,  as  a  politician  is,  a 
demagogue.  He  could  sway  his  fellows,  as  I  had  heard  enough 
to  know.  And  I  felt  a  slight  chill  on  the  warmth  of  my  hope,  be- 
cause that  bright  sail,  brilliantly  and  furtively  dodging  along  in 
our  wake,  must  be  the  product  of  Manuel's  inspiration,  urged  to 
perseverance  by  the  fear  of  O'Brien.  The  mate  continued,  staring 
knowingly  at  it: 

"  You  know  I  am  putting  two  and  two  together,  like  the  old 
maids  that  come  to  see  my  aunt  when  they  want  to  take  away  a 
woman's  character.  The  Dagos  are  out,  and  no  mistake.  The 
question  is,  Why?  You  must  know  whether  those  schooners  can 
sail  anything;  but  don't  forget  the  old  Lion  is  pretty  smart.  Is  it 
likely  they'll  attempt  the  ship  again  ?  " 

I  negatived  that  at  once.  I  explained  to  Sebright  that  the  store 
of  ammunition  in  Rio  Medio  would  not  run  to  it;  that  the 
Lugarehos  were  cowardly,  divided  by  faction,  incapable,  by  them- 
selves, of  combining  for  any  length  of  time,  and  still  less  of  fol- 
lowing a  plan  requiring  perseverance  and  hardihood. 

"  They  can't  mean  anything  in  the  nature  of  open  attack,"  I 
affirmed.  "  They  may  have  attempted  something  of  the  sort  in 
Nichols'  time,  but  it  isn't  in  their  nature." 

Sebright  said  that  was  practically  Castro's  opinion,  too — except 
that  Castro  had  emphasized  his  remarks  by  spitting  all  the  time, 
"  like  an  old  tomcat.  He  seems  a  very  spiteful  man,  with  no  great 
love  for  you,  Mr.  Kemp.  Do  you  think  it  safe  to  have  him  about 
you?    What  are  all  these  grievances  of  his?  " 

Castro  seemed  to  have  spouted  his  bile  like  a  volcano,  and  had 
rather  confused  Sebright.     He  had  said  much  about  being  a  friend 


248  ROMANCE 

of  the  Spanish  lord — Carlos;  and  that  now  he  had  no  place  on 
earth  to  hide  his  head. 

"  As  far  as  I  could  make  out,  he's  wanted  in  England,"  said 
Sebright,  "  for  some  matter  of  a  stolen  watch,  years  ago  in  Liver- 
pool, I  think.  And  your  cousin,  the  grandee,  was  mixed  up  In 
that,  too.  That  sounds  funny;  you  didn't  tell  us  about  that. 
Damme  if  he  didn't  seem  to  imply  that  you,  too.  .  .  .  But  you 
have  never  been  in  Liverpool.     Of  course  not.    .    .    ." 

But  that  had  not  been  precisely  Castro's  point.  He  had  affirmed 
he  had  enemies  in  Spain;  he  shuddered  at  the  idea  of  going  to 
France,  and  now  my  English  fancifulness  had  made  it  impossible 
for  him  to  live  in  Rio  Medio,  where  he  had  had  the  care  of  a 
good  padrone. 

"  I  suppose  he  means  a  landlady,"  Sebright  chuckled.  "  Old 
but  good,  he  says.  He  expected  to  die  there  in  peace,  a  good 
Christian.  And  what's  that  about  the  priests  getting  hold  of  his 
very  last  bit  of  silver?  I  must  say  that  sounded  truest  of  all  his 
rigmarole.    For  the  salvation  of  his  soul,  I  suppose?  " 

"  No,  my  cousin's  soul,"  I  said  gloomily. 

"  Humbugs.    I  only  understood  one  word  in  three." 

Just  then  Tomas  himself  stalked  into  sight  among  the  men 
forward.  Coming  round  the  corner  of  the  deck-house,  he  stopped 
at  the  galley  door  like  a  crow  outside  a  hut,  waiting.  We 
watched  him  getting  a  light  for  his  cigarette  at  the  galley  door 
with  much  dignified  pantomime.  The  negro  cook  of  the  hion, 
holding  out  to  him  In  the  doorway  a  live  coal  In  a  pair  of  tongs, 
turned  his  Ethiopian  face  and  white  Ivories  towards  a  group  of 
sailors  lost  In  the  contemplation  of  the  proceedings.  And,  when 
Castro  had  passed  them,  spurting  jets  of  smoke,  they  swung  about 
to  look  after  his  short  figure,  upon  whose  draped  blackness  the 
sunlight  brought  out  reddish  streaks  as  If  bucketfuls  of  rusty  water 
had  been  thrown  over  him  from  hat  to  toe.  The  end  of  his  broken 
plume  hung  forward  aggressively. 

"  Look  how  the  fellow  struts !  Night  and  thunder !  Hey,  Don 
Tenebroso!  Would  your  worship  hasten  thither.  .  .  ."  Se- 
bright hailed  jocularly. 

Castro,  without  altering  his  pace,  came  up  to  us. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  her  now?  "  asked  Sebright,  pointing  to 


PART  FOURTH  249 

the  strange  sail.  "  She's  grown  a  bit  plainer,  now  she  is  out  of 
the  glare." 

Castro,  wrapping  his  chin,  stood  still,  face  to  the  sea.  After  a 
long  while : 

"  Malediction,"  he  pronounced  slowly,  and  without  moving  his 
head  shot  a  sidelong  glance  at  me. 

"  It's  clear  enough  how  he  feels  about  our  friends  over  there. 
Malediction.  Just  so.  Very  proper.  But  it  seems  as  though  he  had 
a  bone  to  pick  with  all  the  world,"  drawled  Sebright,  a  little 
sleepily.  Then,  resuming  his  briskness,  he  bantered,  "  So  you  don't 
want  to  go  to  England,  Mr.  Castro?  No  friends  there?  Sus.  per 
col.j  and  that  sort  of  thing?  " 

Castro,  contemptuous,  staring  straight  away,  nodded  impa- 
tiently. 

"  But  this  gentleman  you  are  so  devoted  to  is  going  to  England 
— to  his  friends." 

Castro's  arms  shook  under  the  mantle  falling  all  round 
him  straight  from  the  neck.  His  whole  body  seemed  convulsed. 
From  his  puckered  dark  lips  issued  a  fiendish  and  derisive 
squeal. 

"  Let  his  friends  beware,  then.  Por  DiosI  Let  them  beware. 
Let  them  pray  and  fast,  and  beg  the  intercession  of  the  saints. 
Ha!  ha!  ha!  .   .   ." 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  unlike  his  saturnine  self-centered 
truculence  of  restraint.  He  impressed  me;  and  even  Sebright's 
steady,  cool  eyes  grew  perceptibly  larger  before  this  sarcastic  fury. 
Castro  choked ;  the  rusty,  black  folds  encircling  him  shook  and 
heaved.  Unexpectedly  he  thrust  out  in  front  of  the  cloak  one  yel- 
low, dirty  little  hand,  side  by  side  with  the  bright  end  of  his  fixed 
blade. 

"What  do  I  hear?  To  England!  Going  to  England!  Ha! 
Then  let  him  hasten  there  straight!  Let  him  go  straight  there,  I 
say — I,  Tomas  Castro!  " 

He  lowered  his  tone  to  impress  us  more,  and  the  point  of  the 
knife,  as  it  were  an  emphatic  forefinger,  tapped  the  open  palm 
forcibly.  Did  we  think  that  a  man  was  not  already  riding  along 
the  coast  to  Havana  on  a  fast  mule? — the  very  best  mule  from  the 
stables  of   Don   Balthasar   himself — that  murdered   saint.     The 


250  ROMANCE 

Captain-General  had  no  such  mules.  His  late  excellency  owned  a 
sugar  estate  halfway  between  Rio  Medio  and  Havana,  and  a  relay 
of  riding  mules  was  kept  there  for  quickness  when  his  excellency 
of  holy  memory  found  occasion  to  write  his  commands  to  the 
capital.  The  news  of  our  escape  would  reach  the  Juez  next  day 
at  the  latest.  Manuel  would  take  care  of  that — unless  he  were 
drowned.    But  he  could  swim  like  a  fish.     Malediction ! 

"  I  cried  out  to  you  to  kill!  "  he  addressed  me  directly;  "with 
all  my  soul  I  cried.  And  why?  Because  he  had  seen  you  and  the 
senorita,  too,  alas!  He  should  have  been  made  dumb — made 
dumb  with  your  pistol,  senor,  since  those  two  stupid  English  mari- 
ners were  too  much  for  an  old  man  like  me.  Manuel  should  have 
been  made  dumb — dumb  forever,  I  say.  What  mattered  he — that 
gutter-born  offspring  of  an  evil  Gitana,  whom  I  have  seen,  senor! 
I,  myself,  have  seen  her  in  the  days  of  my  adversity  in  Madrid, 
senor — a  red  flower  behind  the  ear,  clad  in  rags  that  did  not  cover 
all  her  naked  skin,  looking  on  while  they  fought  for  her  with 
knives  in  a  wine-shop  full  of  beggars  and  thieves.  Si,  senor. 
That's  his  mother.  Improvisador — politico — capataz.  Ha.  .  .  . 
Dirt!" 

He  made  a  gesture  of  immense  contempt. 

"  What  mattered  he?  The  coach  would  have  returned  from 
the  cathedral,  and  the  Casa  Riego  could  have  been  held  for  days 
— and  who  could  have  known  you  were  not  inside.  I  had  con- 
versed earnestly  with  Cesar  the  major-domo — an  African,  it  is 
true,  but  a  man  of  much  character  and  excellent  sagacity.     Ah, 

Manuel!  Manuel!     \i  I But  the  devil  himself  fathers  the 

children  of  such  mothers.  I  am  no  longer  in  possession  of  my  first 
vigor,  and  you,  senor,  have  all  the  folly  of  your  nation  .  .  ." 

He  bared  his  grizzled  head  to  me  loftily. 

".  .  .  And  the  courage!  Doubtless,  that  is  certain.  It  is 
well.  You  may  want  it  all  before  long,  senor  .  .  .  And  the 
courage!  " 

The  broken  plume  swept  the  deck.  For  a  time  he  blinked  his 
creased,  brown  eyelids  in  the  sun,  then  pulled  his  hat  low  down 
over  his  brows,  and,  wrapping  himself  up  closely,  turned  away 
from  me  to  look  at  the  sail  to  leeward. 

"What  an  old,  old,  wrinkled,  little,  puffy  beggar  he  is!  "  ob- 


PART  FOURTH  251 

served  Sebright,  in  an  undertone.  ..."  Well,  and  what  is  your 
worship's  opinion  as  to  the  purpose  of  that  schooner?  " 

Castro  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Who  knows?  "...  He  re- 
leased the  gathered  folds  of  his  cloak,  and  moved  ofi  without  a 
look  at  either  of  us. 

"  There  he  struts,  with  his  wings  drooping  like  a  turkey-cock 
gone  into  deep  mourning,"  said  Sebright.  "Who  knows?  Ah, 
well,  there's  no  hurry  to  know  for  a  day  or  two.  I  don't  think 
that  craft  could  overhaul  the  Liouj  if  they  tried  ever  so.  They 
may  manage  to-keep  us  in  sight  perhaps." 

He  yawned,  and  left  me  standing  motionless,  thinking  of  Sera- 
phina.  I  longed  to  see  her — to  make  sure,  as  if  my  belief  in  the 
possession  of  her  had  been  inexplicably  weakened.  I  was  going  to 
look  at  the  door  of  her  cabin.  But  when  I  got  as  far  as  the  com- 
panion I  had  to  stand  aside  for  Mrs.  Williams,  who  was  coming 
up  the  winding  stairs. 

From  above  I  saw  the  gray  woolen  shawl  thrown  over  her 
narrow  shoulders.  Her  parting  made  a  broad  line  on  her  brown 
head.  She  mounted  busily,  holding  up  a  little  the  front  of  her 
black,  plain  skirt.  Her  glance  met  mine  with  a  pale,  searching 
candor  from  below. 

Overnight  she  had  heard  all  my  story.  She  had  come  out  to 
the  saloon  whilst  I  had  been  giving  it  to  Williams,  and  after  saying 
reassuringly,  "  The  young  lady,  I  am  thankful,  is  asleep,"  she  had 
sat  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  my  lips.  I  had  been  aware  of  her 
anxious  face,  and  of  the  slight,  nervous  movements  of  her  hands 
at  certain  portions  of  my  narrative  under  the  blazing  lamps.  We 
met  now,  for  the  first  time,  in  the  daylight. 

Hastily,  as  if  barring  my  road  to  Seraphina's  cabin,  "  Miss 
Riego,  I  would  have  you  know,"  she  said,  "  is  in  good  bodily 
health.  I  have  this  moment  looked  upon  her  again.  The  poor, 
superstitious  young  lady  is  on  her  knees,  crossing  herself." 

Mrs.  Williams  shuddered  slightly.  It  was  plain  that  the  sight 
of  that  popish  practice  had  given  her  a  shock — almost  a  scare,  as 
if  she  had  seen  a  secret  and  nefarious  rite.  I  explained  that  Sera- 
phina,  being  a  Catholic,  worshiped  as  her  lights  enjoined,  as  we 
did  after  ours.  Mrs.  Williams  only  sighed  at  this,  and,  making 
an  effort,  proposed  that  I  should  walk  with  her  a  little.    We  began 


252  ROMANCE 

to  pace  the  poop,  she  gliding  with  short  steps  at  my  side,  and  draw- 
ing close  the  skimpy  shawl  about  her.  The  smooth  bands  of  her 
hair  put  a  shadow  into  the  slight  hollows  of  her  temples.  No 
nun,  in  the  chilly  meekness  of  the  habit,  had  ever  given  me  such 
a  strong  impression  of  poverty  and  renunciation. 

But  there  was  in  that  faded  woman  a  warmth  of  sentiment. 
She  Hushed  delicately  whenever  caught  (and  one  could  not  help 
catching  her  continually)  following  her  husband  with  eyes  that  had 
an  expression  of  maternal  uneasiness  and  the  captivated  attention 
of  a  bride.  And  after  she  had  got  over  the  idea  that  I,  as  a  mem- 
ber of  the  male  British  aristocracy,  was  dissolute — it  was  an  article 
of  faith  with  her — that  warmth  of  sentiment  would  bring  a  faint, 
sympathetic  rosiness  to  her  sunken  cheeks. 

She  said  suddenly  and  tremblingly,  "  Oh,  young  sir,  reflect  upon 
these  things  before  it  is  too  late.  You  young  men,  in  your  luxuri- 
ous, worldly,  ungoverned  lives   .   .    ." 

I  shall  never  forget  that  first  talk  with  her  on  the  poop — her 
hurried,  nervous  voice  (for  she  w^as  a  timid  woman,  speaking  from 
a  sense  of  duty),  and  the  extravagant  forms  her  ignorance  took. 
With  the  emotions  of  the  past  night  still  throbbing  in  my  brain  and 
heart,  with  the  sight  of  the  sea  and  the  coast,  with  the  Rio  Medio 
schooner  hanging  on  our  quarter,  I  listened  to  her,  and  had  a  hard 
task  to  believe  my  ears.  She  was  so  convinced  that  I  was  "  dissi- 
lute,"  because  of  my  class — ^as  an  earl's  grandson. 

It  Is  difficult  to  imagine  how  she  arrived  at  the  conviction;  it 
must  have  been  from  pulpit  denunciations  of  the  small  Bethel  on 
the  outskirt  of  Bristol.  Her  uncle,  J.  Perkins,  was  a  great  ruffian, 
certainly,  and  Williams  was  dissolute  enough,  if  one  wished  to 
call  his  festive  imbecilities  by  a  hard  name.  But  these  two 
could,  by  no  means,  be  said  to  belong  to  the  upper  classes.  And 
these  two,  apart  from  her  favorite  preacher,  were  the  only  two 
men  of  whom  she  could  be  said  to  have  more  than  a  visual  knowl- 
edge. 

She  had  spent  her  best  years  in  domestic  slavery  to  her  bachelor 
uncle,  an  old  shipowner  of  savage  selfishness;  she  had  been  the 
deplorable  mistress  of  his  big,  half-furnished  house,  standing  in  a 
damp  garden  full  of  trees.  The  outrageous  Perkins  had  been  a 
sailor  in  his  time — mate  of  a  privateer  in  the  great  French  war, 


PART  FOURTH  253 

afterwards  master  of  a  slaver,  developing  at  last  into  the  owner  of 
a  small  fleet  of  West  Indiamen.  Williams  was  his  favorite  cap- 
tain, whom  he  would  bring  home  in  the  evening  to  drink  rum  and 
water,  and  smoke  churchwarden  pipes  with  him.  The  niece  had 
to  sit  up,  too,  at  these  dismal  revels.  Old  Perkins  would  keep  her 
out  of  bed  to  mix  the  grogs,  till  he  was  ready  to  climb  the  bare 
stone  staircase,  echoing  from  top  to  bottom  with  his  stumbles. 
However,  it  seems  he  dozed  a  good  deal  in  snatches  during  the 
evening,  and  this,  I  suppose,  gave  their  opportunity  to  the  pale, 
spiritual-looking  spinster  with  the  patient  eyes,  and  to  the  thick, 
staring  Williams,  florid  with  good  living,  and  utterly  unused  to 
the  company  of  women  of  that  sort.  But  in  what  way  these  two 
unsimilar  beings  had  looked  upon  each  other,  what  she  saw  in  him, 
what  he  imagined  her  to  be  like,  why,  how,  wherefore,  an  under- 
standing arose  between  them,  remains  inexplicable.  It  was  her 
romance — and  it  is  even  possible  that  he  was  moved  by  an  unselfish 
sentiment.  Sebright  accounted  for  the  matter  by  saying  that,  as 
to  the  woman,  it  was  no  wonder.  Anything  to  get  away  from 
a  bullying  old  rufiian,  that  would  use  bad  language  in  cold  blood 
just  to  horrify  her — and  then  burst  into  a  laugh  and  jeer;  but  as 
to  Captain  Williams  (Sebright  had  been  with  him  from  a  boy), 
he  ought  to  have  known  he  was  quite  incapable  of  keeping  straight 
after  all  these  free-and-easy  years. 

He  used  to  talk  a  lot,  about  that  time,  of  good  women,  of 
settling  down  to  a  respectable  home,  of  leading  a  better  life;  but, 
of  course,  he  couldn't.  Simply  couldn't,  what  with  old  friends  in 
Kingston  and  Havana — and  his  habits  formed — and  his  weakness 
for  women  who,  as  Sebright  put  it,  could  not  be  called  good. 
Certainly  there  did  not  seem  to  have  been  any  sordid  calculation 
in  the  marriage.  Williams  fully  expected  to  lose  his  command; 
but,  as  it  turned  out,  the  old  beast,  Perkins,  was  quite  daunted  by 
the  loss  of  his  niece.  He  found  them  out  in  their  lodgings,  came 
to  them  crying — absolutely  whimpering  about  his  white  hairs, 
talkmg  touchingly  of  his  will,  and  promising  amendment.  In  the 
end  it  was  arranged  that  Williams  should  keep  his  command ;  and 
Mrs.  Williams  went  back  to  her  uncle.  That  was  the  best  of 
it.  Actually  went  back  to  look  after  that  lonely  old  rip,  out  of 
pure  pity  and  goodness  of  heart.    Of  course  old  Perkins  was  afraid 


254  ROMANCE 

to  treat  her  as  badly  as  before,  and  everything  was  going  on  fairly 
well,  till  some  kind  friend  sent  her  an  anonymous  letter  about 
Williams'  goings  on  in  Jamaica.  Sebright  strongly  suspected  the 
master  of  another  regular  trading  ship,  with  whom  Williams  had 
a  difference  in  Kingston  the  voyage  before  last — Sebright  said — 
about  a  small  matter,  with  long  hair — not  worth  talking  about. 
She  said  nothing  at  first,  and  nearly  worried  herself  into  a  brain- 
fever.  Then  she  confessed  she  had  a  letter — didn't  believe  it — 
but  wanted  a  change,  and  would  like  to  come  for  one  voyage. 
Nothing  could  be  said  to  that. 

The  worst  was,  the  captain  was  so  knocked  over  at  the  idea  of 
his  little  sins  coming  to  light,  that  he — Sebright — had  the  greatest 
difficulty  in  preventing  him  from  giving  himself  away. 

"  If  I  hadn't  been  really  fond  of  her,"  Sebright  concluded,  "  I 
would  have  let  everything  go  by  the  board.  It's  too  difficult.  And 
mind,  the  whole  of  Kingston  was  on  the  broad  grin  all  the  time  we 
were  there — but  it's  no  joke.  She's  a  good  woman,  and  she's  jeal- 
ous. She  wants  to  keep  her  own.  Never  had  much  of  her  own 
in  this  world,  poor  thing.  She  can't  help  herself  any  more  than 
the  skipper  can.  Luckily,  she  knows  no  more  of  life  than  a  baby. 
But  it's  a  most  cruel  set  out." 

Sebright  had  exposed  the  domestic  situation  on  board  the  Lion 
with  a  force  of  insight  and  sympathy  hardly  to  be  expected  from 
his  years.  No  doubt  his  attachment  to  the  disparate  couple  counted 
for  not  a  little.  He  seemed-  to  feel  for  them  both  a  sort  of  exas- 
perated affection;  but  I  have  no  doubt  that  in  his  way  he  was  a 
remarkable  young  man  with  his  contrasted  bringing  up  first  at 
the  hands  of  an  old  maiden  lady;  afterwards  on  board  ship  with 
Williams,  to  whom  he  was  indentured  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  when 
as  he  casually  mentioned — "  a  scoundrelly  attorney  in  Exeter  had 
run  of^  with  most  of  the  old  girl's  money."  Indeed,  looking  back, 
they  all  appear  to  me  uncommon  ;  even  to  the  round-eyed  Williams, 
cowed  simply  out  of  respect  and  regard  for  his  wife,  and  as  if 
dazed  with  fright  at  the  conventional  catastrophe  of  being  found 
out  before  he  could  get  her  safely  back  to  Bristol.  As  to  Mrs. 
Williams,  I  must  confess  that  the  poor  woman's  ridiculous  and 
genuine  misery,  inducing  her  to  undertake  the  voyage,  presented 
itself  to  me  simply  as  a  blessing,  there  on  the  poop.     She  had  been 


PART  FOURTH  255 

practically  good  to  Seraphina,  and  her  talking  to  me  mattered  very 
little,  set  against  that.   .  .   .    And  such  talk ! 

It  was  like  listening  to  an  earnest,  impassioned,  tremulous  im- 
pertinence. She  seemed  to  start  from  the  assumption  that  I  was 
capable  of  every  villainy,  and  devoid  of  honor  and  conscience ;  only, 
one  perceived  that  she  used  the  words  from  the  force  of  unworldly 
conviction,  and  without  any  real  knowledge  of  their  meaning,  as 
a  precocious  child  uses  terms  borrowed  from  its  pastors  and 
masters. 

I  was  greatly  disconcerted  at  first,  but  I  was  never  angry. 
What  of  it,  if,  with  a  sort  of  sweet  absurdity,  she  talked  in  great 
agitation  of  the  depravity  of  hearts,  of  the  sin  of  light-mindedness, 
of  the  self-deception  which  leads  men  astray — a  confused  but  pur- 
poseful jumble,  in  which  occasional  allusions  to  the  errors  of  Rome, 
and  to  the  want  of  seriousness  in  the  upper  classes,  put  in  a  last 
touch  of  extravagance? 

What  of  it?  The  time  was  coming  when  I  should  remember 
the  frail,  homely,  as  if  starved,  woman,  and  thank  heaven  for  her 
generous  heart,  which  was  gained  for  us  from  that  moment.  Far 
from  being  offended,  I  was  drawn  to  her.  There  is  a  beauty 
in  the  absolute  conscience  of  the  simple;  and  besides,  her  distrust 
was  for  me,  alone.  I  saw  that  she  erected  herself  not  into  a  judge, 
but  into  a  guardian,  against  the  dangers  of  our  youth  and  our 
romance.     She  was  disturbed  by  its  origin. 

There  was  so  much  of  the  unusual,  of  the  unheard  of  in  its  be- 
ginning, that  she  was  afraid  of  the  end.  I  was  so  inexperienced, 
she  said,  and  so  was  the  young  lady — poor  motherless  thing — 
willful,  no  doubt — so  very  taking — like  a  little  child,  rather.  Had 
I  comprehended  all  my  responsibility?  (And  here  one  of  the 
hurried  side-allusions  to  the  errors  of  Rome  came  in  with  a  re- 
minder, touching  the  charge  of  another  immortal  soul  beside  my 
own.)    Had  I  reflected?   .    .   . 

It  seems  to  me  that  this  moment  was  the  last  of  my  boyishness. 
It  was  as  if  the  contact  with  her  earnestness  had  matured  me  with 
a  power  greater  than  the  power  of  dangers,  of  fear,  of  tragic 
events.  She  wanted  to  know  insistently  whether  I  were  sure  of 
myself,  whether  I  had  examined  my  feelings,  and  had  measured  my 
strength,  and  had  asked  for  guidance.    I  had  done  nothing  of  this. 


256  ROMANCE 

Not  till  brought  face  to  face  with  her  unanswerable  simplicity  did 
I  descend  within  myself.  It  seemed  I  had  descended  so  deeply 
that,  for  a  time,  I  lost  the  sound  of  her  voice.  And  again  I  heard 
her. 

"  There's  time  yet,"  she  was  saying.  "  Think,  young  sir  [she 
had  addressed  me  throughout  as  "  young  sir  "].  My  husband  and 
I  have  been  talking  it  over  most  anxiously.  Think  well  before  you 
commit  the  young  lady  for  life.  You  are  both  so  young.  It  looks 
as  if  we  had  been  sent  providentially.   .   .   ." 

What  was  she  driving  at?  Did  she  doubt  my  love?  It  was 
rather  horrible ;  but  it  was  too  startling  and  too  extravagant  to  be 
met  with  anger.  We  looked  at  each  other,  and  I  discovered  that 
she  had  been,  in  reality,  tremendously  excited  by  this  adventure. 
This  was  the  secret  of  her  audacity.  And  I  was  also  possessed  by 
excitement.  We  stood  there  like  two  persons  meeting  in  a  great 
wind.  Without  moving  her  hands,  she  clasped  and  unclasped  her 
fingers,  looking  up  at  me  with  soliciting  eyes ;  and  her  lips,  firmly 
closed,  twitched. 

"  I  am  looking  for  the  means  of  explaining  to  you  how  much  I 
love  her,"  I  burst  out.  "  And  if  I  found  a  way,  you  could  not 
understand.    What  do  you  know  ? — what  can  you  know  ?  .  .   ." 

I  said  this  not  in  scorn,  but  in  sheer  helplessness.  I  was  at  a 
loss  before  the  august  magnitude  of  my  feeling,  which  I  saw  con- 
fronting me  like  an  enormous  presence  arising  from  that  blue  sea. 
It  was  no  longer  a  boy-and-girl  affair;  no  longer  an  adventure;  it 
was  an  immense  and  serious  happiness,  to  be  paid  for  by  an  infinity 
of  sacrifice. 

"  I  am  a  woman,"  she  said,  with  a  fluttering  dignity.  "  And  it 
is  because  I  know  how  women  suffer  from  what  men  say.   .   .   ." 

Her  face  flushed.  It  flushed  to  the  very  bands  of  her  hair.  She 
was  rosy  all  over  the  eyes  and  forehead.  Rosy  and  ascetic,  with 
something  outraged  and  inexpressibly  sweet  in  her  expression.  My 
great  emotion  was  between  us  like  a  mist,  through  which  I  beheld 
strange  appearances.  It  was  as  if  an  immaterial  spirit  had  blushed 
before  me.  And  suddenly  I  saw  tears — tears  that  glittered  ex- 
ceedingly, falling  hard  and  round,  like  pellets  of  glass,  out  of  her 
faded  eyes. 

"  Mrs,  Williams,"  I  cried,  "  you  can't  know  how  I  love  her. 


PART  FOURTH  257 

No  one  in  the  world  can  know.  When  I  think  of  her — and  I 
think  of  her  always — it  seems  to  me  that  one  life  is  not  enough  to 
show  my  devotion.  I  love  her  like  something  unchangeable  and 
unique — altogether  out  of  the  world ;  because  I  see  the  world 
through  her.  I  would  still  love  her  if  she  had  made  me  miserable 
and  unhappy." 

She  exclaimed  a  low  "  Ah!  "  and  turned  her  head  away  for  a 
moment. 

"  But  one  cannot  express  these  things,"  I  continued.  "  There 
are  no  words.  Words  are  not  meant  for  that.  I  love  her  so  that, 
were  I  to  die  this  moment,  I  verily  believe  my  soul,  refusing  to 
leave  this  earth,  would  remain  hovering  near  her.   .   .  ." 

She  interrupted  me  with  a  sort  of  indulgent  horror.  "  Sh!  sh!  " 
I  mustn't  talk  like  that.  I  really  must  not — and  inconsequently 
she  declared  she  was  quite  willing  to  believe  me.  Her  husband 
and  herself  had  not  slept  a  wink  for  thinking  of  us.  The  notion 
of  the  fat,  sleepy  Williams,  sitting  up  all  night  to  consider, 
owlishly,  the  durability  of  my  love,  cooled  my  excitement.  She 
thought  they  had  been  providentially  thrown  into  our  way  to  give 
us  an  opportunity  of  reconsidering  our  decision.  There  were  still 
so  many  difficulties  in  the  way. 

I  did  not  see  any ;  her  utter  incomprehension  began  to  weary  me, 
while  she  still  twined  her  fingers,  wiped  her  eyes  by  stealth,  as  it 
were,  and  talked  unflinchingly.  She  could  not  have  made  herself 
clearly  understood  by  Seraphina.  Moreover,  women  were  so  help- 
less— so  very  helpless  in  such  matters.  That  is  why  she  was  speak- 
ing to  me.  She  did  not  doubt  my  sincerity  at  the  present  time — 
but  there  was,  humanly  speaking,  a  long  life  before  us — and  what 
of  afterwards?  Was  I  sure  of  myself — later  on — when  all  was 
well? 

I  cut  her  short.     Seizing  both  her  hands: 

"I  accept  the  omen,  Mrs.  Williams!"  I  cried.  "That's  it! 
When  all  is  well !  And  all  must  be  well  in  a  very  short  time,  with 
you  and  your  husband's  help,  which  shall  not  fail  me,  I  know. 
I  feel  as  if  the  worst  of  our  troubles  were  over  already.   .   .   ." 

But  at  that  moment  I  saw  Seraphina  coming  out  on  deck.  She 
emerged  from  the  companion,  bare-headed,  and  looked  about  at 
her  new  surroundings  with  that  air  of  imperious  and  childlike 


258  ROMANCE 

beauty  which  made  her  charm.  The  wind  stirred  slightly  her 
delicate  hair,  and  I  looked  at  her;  I  looked  at  her  stilled,  as  one 
watches  the  dawn  or  listens  to  a  sweet  strain  of  music  caught 
from  afar.  Suddenly  dropping  Mrs.  Williams'  hand,  I  ran  to 
her.    ... 

When  I  turned  round,  Williams  had  joined  his  wife,  and  she 
had  slipped  her  arm  under  his.  Her  hand,  thin  and  white,  looked 
like  the  hand  of  an  invalid  on  the  brawny  forearm  of  that  man 
bursting  with  health  and  good  condition.  By  the  side  of  his  lusti- 
ness, she  was  almost  ethereal — and  yet  I  seemed  to  see  in  them 
something  they  had  in  common — something  subtle,  like  the  expres- 
sion of  eyes.  It  was  the  expression  of  their  eyes.  They  looked  at 
us  with  commiseration;  one  of  them  sweetly,  the  other  with  his 
owlish  fixity.  As  we  two,  Seraphina  and  I,  approached  them  to- 
gether, I  heard  Williams'  thick,  sleepy  voice  asking,  "  And  so  he 
says  he  won't  ?  "  To  which  his  wife,  raising  her  tone  with  a  shade 
of  indignation,  answered,  "  Of  course  not."  No,  I  was  not  mis- 
taken. In  their  dissimilar  persons,  eyes,  faces,  there  was  expressed 
a  common  trouble,  doubt,  and  commiseration.  This  expression 
seemed  to  go  out  to  meet  us  sadly,  like  a  bearer  of  ill-news.  And, 
as  if  at  the  sight  of  a  downcast  messenger,  I  experienced  the  clear 
presentiment  of  some  fatal  intelligence. 

It  was  conveyed  to  me  late  in  the  afternoon  of  that  same  day 
out  of  Williams'  own  thick  lips,  that  seemed  as  heavy  and  inert 
as  his  voice. 

"  As  far  as  we  can  see,"  he  said,  "  you  can't  stay  in  the  ship, 
Kemp.  It  would  do  no  one  any  good — not  the  slightest  good.  Ask 
Sebright  here." 

It  was  a  sort  of  council  of  war,  to  which  we  had  been  summoned 
in  the  saloon.  Mrs.  Williams  had  some  sewing  in  her  lap.  She 
listened,  her  hands  motionless,  her  eyes  full  of  desolation.  Sera- 
phina's  attitude,  leaning  her  cheek  on  her  hand,  reminded  me  of  the 
time  when  I  had  seen  her  absorbed  in  watching  the  green-and-gold 
lizard  in  the  back  room  of  Ramon's  store,  with  her  hair  falling 
about  her  face  like  a  veil.  Castro  was  not  called  in  till  later  on. 
But  Sebright  was  there,  leaning  his  back  negligently  against  the 
bulkhead  behind  Williams,  and  looking  down  on  us  seated  on  both 
sides  of  the  long  table.     And  there  was  present,  too,  in  all  our 


PART  FOURTH  259 

minds,  the  image  of  the  Rio  Medio  schooner,  hull  down  on  our 
quarter.  In  all  the  trials  of  sailing,  we  had  not  been  able  to  shake 
her  off  that  day. 

"  I  don't  want  to  hide  from  you,  Mr.  Kemp,"  Sebright  began, 
"  that  it  was  I  who  pointed  out  to  the  captain  that  you  would  be 
only  getting  the  ship  in  trouble  for  nothing.  She's  an  old  trader 
and  favorite  with  shippers ;  and  if  we  once  get  to  loggerheads  with 
the  powers,  there's  an  end  of  her  trading.  As  to  missing  Havana 
this  trip,  even  if  you,  Mr.  Kemp,  could  give  a  pot  of  money,  the 
captain  could  never  show  his  nose  in  there  again  after  breaking  his 
charter-party  to  help  steal  a  young  lady.  And  it  isn't  as  if  she  were 
nobody.  She's  the  richest  heiress  in  the  island.  The  biggest  people 
in  Spain  would  have  their  say  in  this  matter,  I  suppose  they  could 
put  the  captain  in  prison  or  something.  Anyway,  good-by  to  the 
Havana  business  for  good.  Why,  old  Perkins  would  have  a  fit. 
He  got  over  one  runaway  match.  .  .  .  All  right,  Mrs.  Williams, 
not  another  word.  .  .  .  What  I  meant  to  say  is  that  this  is 
nothing  else  but  a  love  story,  and  to  knock  on  the  head  a  valuable 
old-established  connection  for  it.  .  .  ,  Don't  bite  your  lip,  Mr. 
Kemp.  I  mean  no  disrespect  to  your  feelings.  Perkins  would 
start  up  to  break  things — let  alone  his  heart.  I  am  sure  the  captain 
and  Mrs.  Williams  think  so,  too." 

The  festive  and  subdued  captain  of  the  Lion  was  staring  straight 
before  him,  as  if  stuffed.  Mrs.  Williams  moved  her  fingers,  com- 
pressed her  lips,  and  looked  helplessly  at  all  of  us  in  turn.  "  Be- 
sides altering  his  will,"  Sebright  breathed  confidentially  at  the 
back  of  my  head.  I  perceived  that  this  old  Perkins,  whom  I  had 
never  seen,  and  was  never  to  see  in  the  body,  whose  body  no 
one  was  ever  to  see  any  more  (he  died  suddenly  on  the  echoing 
staircase,  with  a  flat  candlestick  in  his  hand;  was  already  dead  at 
the  time,  so  that  Mrs.  Williams  was  actually  sitting  in  the  cabin 
of  her  very  own  ship) — I  perceived  that  old  Perkins  was  present 
at  this  discussion  with  all  the  power  of  a  malignant,  bad-tempered 
spirit.  Those  two  were  afraid  of  him.  They  had  defied  him  once, 
it  is  true — but  even  that  had  been  done  out  of  fear,  as  it  were. 

Dismayed,  I  spoke  quickly  to  Seraphina.  With  her  head  resting 
on  her  hand,  and  her  eyes  following  the  aimless  tracings  of  her 
finger  on  the  table,  she  said : 


26o  ROMANCE 

"  It  shall  be  as  God  wills  it,  Juan." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  don't!"  said  Sebright,  coughing  be- 
hind me.  He  understood  Spanish  fairly  well.  "  What  I've 
said  in  perfectly  true.  Nevertheless  the  captain  was  ready  to 
risk  it." 

"  Yes,"  ejaculated  Williams  profoundly,  out  of  almost  still  lips, 
and  otherwise  so  motionless  all  over  that  the  deep  sound  seemed 
to  have  been  produced  by  some  person  under  the  table.  Mrs. 
Williams'  fingers  were  clasped  on  her  lap,  and  her  eyes  seemed  to 
beg  for  belief  all  round  our  faces. 

"  But  the  point  is  that  it  would  have  been  no  earthly  good  for 
you  two,"  continued  Sebright.  "  That's  the  point  I  made.  If 
O'Brien  knows  anything,  he  knows  you  are  on  board  this  ship.  He 
reckons  on  it  as  a  dead  certainty.  Now,  it  is  very  evident  that  we 
could  refuse  to  give  ^^om  up,  Mr.  Kemp,  and  that  the  admiral  (if 
the  flagship's  off  Havana,  as  I  think  she  must  be  by  now)  would 
have  to  back  us  up.  How  you  would  get  on  afterwards  with  old 
Groggy  Rowley,  I  don't  know.  It  isn't  likely  he  has  forgotten 
you  tried  to  wipe  the  floor  with  him,  if  I  am  to  take  the  captain's 
yarn  as  correct." 

"  A  regular  hero,"  Williams  testified  suddenly,  in  his  concealed, 
from-under-the-table  tone.  "  He's  not  afraid  of  any  of  them ;  not 
he.  Ha!  ha!  Old  Topnambo  must  have  .  .  ."  He  glanced  at 
his  wife,  and  bit  his  tongue — perhaps  at  the  recollection  of  his  un- 
safe conjugal  position — ending,  in  disjointed  words,  "  In  his  chaise 
— warrant — separationist — rebel,"  and  all  this  without  moving  a 
limb  or  a  muscle  of  his  face,  till,  with  a  low,  throaty  chuckle,  he 
fluttered  a  stony  sort  of  wink  to  my  address. 

Sebright  had  paused  only  long  enough  for  this  ebullition  to  be 
over.  The  cool  logic  of  his  surmise  appalled  me.  He  didn't  see 
why  O'Brien  or  anybody  in  Havana  should  want  to  interfere  with 
me  personally.  But  if  I  wanted  to  keep  my  young  lady,  it  was 
obvious  she  must  not  arrive  in  Havana  on  board  a  ship  where  they 
would  be  sure  to  look  for  her  the  very  first  thing.  It  was  even 
worse  than  it  looked,  he  declared.  His  firm  conviction  was  that 
if  the  Lion  did  not  turn  up  in  Havana  pretty  soon,  there  would 
be  a  Spanish  man-of-war  sent  out  to  look  for  her — or  else  Mr. 
O'Brien  was  not  the  man  we  took  him  for.    There  was  lying  in 


PART  FOURTH  261 

harbor  a  corvette  called  the  Tornado,  a  very  likely  looking  craft. 
I  didn't  expect  them  to  fight  a  corvette.  No  doubt  there  would  be 
a  fuss  made  about  stopping  a  British  ship  on  the  high  seas;  but 
that  would  be  a  cold  comfort  after  the  lady  had  been  taken  away 
from  me.  She  was  a  person  of  so  much  importance  that  even 
our  own  admiral  could  be  induced — say,  by  the  Captain-General's 
remonstrances — to  sanction  such  an  action.  There  was  no  saying 
what  Rowley  would  do  if  they  only  promised  to  present  him  v/ith 
half  a  dozen  pirates  to  take  home  for  a  hanging.  Why!  that  was 
the  very  identical  thing  the  flagship  was  kept  dodging  off  Havana 
for!  And  O'Brien  knew  where  to  lay  his  hands  on  a  gross  of 
x,such  birds,  for  that  matter, 

"  No,"  concluded  Sebright,  overwhelming  me  from  behind,  as 
I  sat  looking,  not  at  the  uncertainties  of  the  future,  but  at  the 
paralyzing  hopelessness  of  the  bare  to-morrow,  "  The  Lion  is  no 
place  for  you,  whether  she  goes  into  Havana  or  not.  Moreover, 
into  Havana  she  must  go  now.  There's  no  help  for  it.  It's  the 
deuce  of  a  situation." 

**  Very  well,"  I  gasped.  ^I  tried  to  be  resolute.  I  felt,  suddenly, 
as  if  all  the  air  in  the  cabin  had  gone  up  the  open  skylight.  I 
couldn't  remain  below  another  moment;  and,  muttering  something 
about  coming  back  directl}^,  I  jumped  up  and  ran  out  without 
looking  at  anyone  lest  I  should  give  myself  away.  I  ran  out  on 
deck  for  air,  but  the  great  blue  emptiness  of  the  open  staggered  me 
like  a  blow  over  the  heart.  I  walked  slowly  to  the  side,  and, 
planting  both  my  elbows  on  the  rail,  stared  abroad  defiantly  and 
without  a  single  clear  thought  in  my  head.  I  had  a  vague  feeling 
that  the  descent  of  the  sun  towards  the  waters,  going  on  before  my 
eyes  with  changes  of  light  and  cloud,  was  like  some  gorgeous  and 
empty  ceremonial  of  immersion  belonging  to  a  vast  barren  faith 
remote  from  consolation  and  hope.  And  I  noticed,  also,  small 
things  without  importance — the  hirsute  aspect  of  a  sailor;  the 
end  of  a  rope  trailing  overboard ;  and  Castro,  so  different  from 
everybody  else  on  board  that  his  appearance  seemed  to  create  a 
profound  solitude  round  him,  lounging  before  the  cabin  door  as  if 
engaged  in  a  deep  conspiracy  all  by  himself.  I  heard  voices  talking 
loudly  behind  me,  too,  I  noted  them  distinctly,  but  with  perfect 
indifference,     A  long  time  after,  with  the  same  indifference,   I 


262  ROMANCE 

looked  over  my  shoulder.  Castro  had  vanished  from  the  quarter- 
deck. And  I  turned  my  face  to  the  sea  again  as  a  man,  feeling 
himself  beaten  in  a  fight  with  death,  might  turn  his  face  to  the 
wall. 

I  had  fought  a  harder  battle  with  a  more  cruel  foe  than  death, 
with  the  doubt  of  myself;  an  endless  contest,  in  which  there  is  no 
peace  of  victory  or  of  defeat.  The  open  sea  was  like  a  blank  and 
unscalable  wall  imprisoning  the  eternal  question  of  conduct. 
Right  or  wrong?  Generosity  or  folly?  Conscience  or  only  weak 
fear  before  remorse?  The  magnificent  ritual  of  sunset  went  on 
palpitating  with  an  inaudible  rhythm,  with  slow  and  unerring 
observance,  went  on  to  the  end,  leaving  its  funeral  fires  on  the 
sky  and  a  great  shadow  upon  the  sea.  Twice  I  had  honorably 
stayed  my  hand.    Twice  ...  to  this  end. 

In  a  moment,  I  went  through  all  the  agonies  of  suicide,  which 
left  me  alive,  alas,  to  burn  with  the  shame  of  the  treasonable 
thought,  and  terrified  by  the  revolt  of  my  soul  refusing  to  leave 
the  world  in  which  a  young  girl  lived !  The  vast  twilight  seemed 
to  take  the  impress  of  her  image  like  wax.  What  did  Seraphina 
think  of  me?  I  knew  nothing  of  her  but  her  features,  and  it  was 
enough.  Strange,  this  power  of  a  woman's  face  upon  a  man's 
heart — this  mastery,  potent  as  witchcraft  and  mysterious  like  a 
miracle.  I  should  have  to  go  and  tell  her.  I  did  not  suppose  she 
could  have  understood  all  of  Sebright's  argumentation.  Therefore, 
it  was  for  me  to  explain  to  what  a  pretty  pass  I  had  brought  our 
love. 

I  was  so  greatly  disinclined  to  stir  that  I  let  Sebright's  voice 
go  on  calling  my  name  half  a  dozen  times  from  the  cabin  door. 
At  last  I  faced  about. 

"  Mr.  Kemp!    I  say,  Kemp!    Aren't  you  coming  in  yet?  " 

"  To  say  good-by,"  I  said,  approaching  him. 

It  had  fallen  dark  already. 

"Good-by?    No.    The  carpenter  must  have  a  day  at  least." 

Carpenter!  What  had  a  carpenter  to  do  in  this?  However, 
nothing  mattered — ^as  though  I  had  managed  to  spoil  the  whole 
scheme  of  creation. 

"You  didn't  think  of  making  a  start  to-night,  did  you?"  Se- 
bright wondered.     "Where  would  be  the  sense  of  it?" 


PART  FOURTH  263 

"  Sense,"  I  answered  contemptuously.  "  There  is  no  sense  in 
anything.    There  is  necessity.     Necessity." 

He  remained  silent  for  a  time,  peering  at  me. 

"  Necessity,  to  be  sure,"  he  said  slowly.  "  And  I  don't  see  why 
you  should  be  angry  at  it." 

I  was  thinking  that  it  was  easy  enough  for  him  to  keep  cool — 
the  necessity  being  mine.  He  continued  to  philosophize  with  what 
seemed  to  me  a  shocking  freedom  of  mind. 

"  Must  try  to  put  some  sense  into  it.  That's  what  we  are  here 
for,  I  guess.  Anyhow,  there's  some  room  for  sense  in  arranging 
the  way  a  thing  is  to  be  done,  be  it  as  hard  as  it  may.  And  I  don't 
see  any  sense,  either,  in  exposing  a  woman  to  more  hardship  than  is 
absolutely  necessary.  We  have  talked  it  out  now,  and  I  can  do 
no  more.  Do  go  inside  for  a  bit.  Mrs.  Williams  is  worrying  the 
senorita,  rather,  I'm  afraid." 

I  paused  a  moment  to  try  and  regain  the  command  of  my  facul- 
ties. But  it  was  as  if  a  bombshell  had  exploded  inside  my 
skull,  scattering  all  my  wits  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven.  Only 
the  conviction  of  failure  remained,  attended  by  a  profound 
distress. 

I  fancy,  though,  I  presented  a  fairly  bold  front.  The  lamp  was 
lit,  and  small  changes  had  occurred  during  my  absence.  Williams 
had  turned  his  bulk  sideways  to  the  table.  Mrs.  Williams  had 
risen  from  her  place,  and  was  now  sitting  upright  close  to  Sera- 
phina,  holding  one  little  hand  inclosed  caressingly  between  her 
frail  palms,  as  if  she  had  there  something  alive  that  needed  cher- 
ishing. And  in  that  position  she  looked  up  at  me  with  a  strange 
air  of  worn-out  youth,  cast  by  a  rosy  flush  over  her  forehead  and 
face.  Seraphina  still  leaned  her  head  on  her  other  hand,  and  I 
noted,  through  the  soft  shadow  of  falling  hair,  the  heightened 
color  on  her  cheek  and  the  augmented  brilliance  of  her  eye. 

"  How  I  wish  she  had  been  an  English  girl,"  Mrs.  Williams 
sighed  regretfully,  and  leaned  fon\'ard  to  look  into  Seraphina's 
half-averted  face. 

"  My  dear,  did  you  quite,  quite  understand  what  I  have  been 
saying  to  you  ?  " 

She  waited. 

"  Si,  Senora,"  said  Seraphina.    None  of  us  moved.    Then,  after 


264  ROMANCE 

a  time,  turning  to  me  with  sudden  animation,  "  This  woman  asked 
me  if  I  believed  in  your  love,"  she  cried.  "  She  is  old.  Oh,  Juan, 
can  the  years  change  the  heart?  your  heart?  "  Her  voice  dropped. 
"  How  am  I  to  know  that?  "  she.went  on  piteously.  "  I  am  young 
— and  we  may  not  live  so  long.    I  believe  in  mine.   .   .   ." 

The  corners  of  her  delicate  lips  drooped;  but  she  mastered  her 
desire  to  cry,  and  steadied  her  voice  which,  always  rich  and  full 
of  womanly  charm,  took  on,  when  she  was  deeply  moved,  an  im- 
posing gravity  of  timbre. 

"  But  I  am  a  Spaniard,  and  I  believe  in  my  lover's  honor ;  in 
your — your  English  honor,  Juan." 

With  the  dignity  of  a  supreme  confidence  she  extended  her  hand. 
It  was  one  of  the  culminating  moments  of  our  love.  For  love  is 
like  a  journey  in  mountainous  country,  up  through  the  clouds,  and 
down  into  the  shadows  to  an  unknown  destination.  It  was  a 
moment  rapt  and  full  of  feeling,  in  which  we  seemed  to  dwell 
together  high  up  and  alone — till  she  withdrew  her  hand  from  my 
lips,  and  I  found  myself  back  In  the  cabin,  as  if  precipitated  from 
a  lofty  place. 

Nobody  was  looking  at  us.  Mrs.  Williams  sat  with  downcast 
eyelids,  with  her  hands  reposing  on  her  lap:  her  husband  gazed 
discreetly  at  a  gold  mounting  on  the  deck-beam;  and  the  upward 
cast  of  his  eyes  invested  his  red  face  with  an  air  of  singularly  im- 
becile ecstasy.  And  there  was  Castro,  too,  whom  I  had  not  seen 
till  then,  though  I  must  .have  brushed  against  him  on  entering. 
He  had  stood  by  the  door  a  mute,  and,  as  it  were,  a  voluntarily 
unmasked  conspirator  with  the  black  round  of  the  hat  lying  in 
front  of  his  feet.  He,  alone,  looked  at  us.  He  looked  from  Sera- 
phina  to  me — from  me  to  Seraphina.  He  looked  unutterable 
things,  rolling  his  crow-footed  eyes  in  pious  horror  and  glowering 
in  turns.  When  Seraphina  addressed  him,  he  hastened  to 
incline  his  head  with  his  usual  deference  for  the  daughter  of  the 
Riegos. 

She  said,  "  There  are  things  that  concern  this  Caballero,  and 
that  you  can  never  understand.  Your  fidelity  is  proved.  It  has 
sunk  deep  here.  ...  It  shall  give  you  a  contented  old  age — on 
the  word  of  Seraphina  Riego." 

He  looked  down  at  his  feet  with  gloomy  submission. 


PART  FOURTH  265 

"  There  is  a  proverb  about  an  enamored  woman,"  he  muttered 
to  himself,  loud  enough  for  me  to  overhear.  Then,  stooping  de- 
liberately to  pick  up  his  hat,  he  flourished  it  with  a  great  sweep 
lower  than  his  knees.  His  dumpy  black  back  flitted  out  of  the 
cabin;  and  almost  directly  we  heard  the  sharp  click  of  his  flint 
and  blade  outside  the  door. 


CHAPTER  VI 

HOW  often  the  activity  of  our  life  is  the  least  real  part  of 
it!  Life,  looked  upon  as  a  whole,  presents  itself  to  my 
fancy  as  a  pursuit  with  open  arms  of  a  winged  and  mag- 
nificent dream,  hovering  just  over  our  heads  and  casting  its  glory 
upon  our  hopes.  It  is  in  this  simple  vision,  which  is  one  and 
enduring,  and  not  in  the  changing  facts,  that  we  must  look  for 
meaning  and  for  truth.  The  three  quiet  days  we  spent  together 
on  board  the  Lion  remain  to  me  memorable  and  full  of  import, 
eventless  and  containing  the  very  quintessence  of  existence.  We 
shared  the  sunshine,  always  together,  very  close,  turning  hand  in 
hand  to  the  sea,  whose  unstained  blueness  continued  under  our  feet 
the  blue  above  our  heads,  as  though  we  had  been  snatched  up  into 
the  sky.  The  insignificant  words  we  exchanged  seemed  informed 
by  a  sustaining  certitude  and  an  admirable  gravity,  as  though 
there  had  been  some  quality  of  unerring  wisdom  in  the  blind  love 
of  man  and  woman.  From  the  inexhaustible  treasure  of  her  feel- 
ings she  drew  words,  glances,  gestures  that  appeased  every  uneasi- 
ness of  my  heart.  In  some  brief  moment  of  illumination  whose 
advent  my  man's  eyes  had  utterly  missed,  she  had  learned  all  at 
once  everything  there  was  to  know.  She  knew.  She  no  longer 
needed  to  survey  my  actions,  my  words,  my  thoughts;  but  she 
accorded  me  the  sincere  flattery  of  spell-bound  attention,  and  it  was 
made  intoxicating  by  her  smile.  In  those  short  days  of  a  pause, 
when,  like  a  swimmer  turning  on  his  back,  we  lived  in  the  trustful 
confidence  of  the  sustaining  depths,  instead  of  strug:gling  with  the 
agitation  of  the  surface — in  these  days  we  had  the  time  to  look  at 
each  other  profoundly ;  and  I  saw  her  smile  come  back  again  a  little 
changed,  more  meaning  and  a  little  less  mirthful,  as  if  her  lips 
had  been  made  stiff  by  sorrow.  But  she  was  young;  and  youth,  the 
time  of  softness,  of  tenderness,  of  enthusiasm,  and  of  pity,  presents 
a  surface  as  hard  as  marble  to  the  finality  of  death. 

Breathing  side  by  side,  drinking  in  the  sunshine,  and  talking  of 

266 


PART  FOURTH  267 

ourselves  not  at  all,  but  casting  the  sense  of  our  love  like  a  mag- 
nificent garment  over  the  wide  significance  of  a  world  already 
conquered,  we  could  not  help  being  made  aware  of  the  currents  of 
excitement  and  sympathy  that  converged  upon  our  essential  isola- 
tion from  the  life  of  the  ship.  It  was  the  excitement  of  the 
adventure  brewing  for  our  drinking  according  to  Sebright's  recipe. 
People  approached  us — spoke  to  us.  We  attended  to  them  as  if 
called  down  from  an  elevation ;  we  were  aware  of  the  kind  tone ; 
and,  remaining  indisdinct,  they  retreated,  leaving  us  free  to  regain 
the  heights  of  the  lovers'  paradise — a  region  of  tender  whispers 
and  intense  silences.  Suddenly  there  would  be  a  short,  throaty 
laugh  behind  our  backs,  and  Williams  would  begin,  "  I  say,  Kemp; 
do  you  call  to  mind  so-and-so?  "  Invariably  some  planter  or  mer- 
chant in  Jamaica.     I  never  could. 

Williams  would  grunt,  "  No?  I  wonder  how  you  passed  your 
time  away  these  two  years  or  more.  The  place  isn't  that  big." 
His  purpose  was  to  cheer  me  up  by  some  gossip,  if  only  he  could 
find  a  common  acquaintance  to  talk  over.  I  believe  he  thought  me 
a  queer  fish.  He  told  me  once  that  everybody  he  knew  in  Jamaica 
had  that  precise  opinion  of  me.  Then  with  a  chuckle  and  mutter- 
ing, "Warrants — assault — Topnambo — ha,  ha!"  he  would  leave 
us  to  ourselves,  and  continue  his  waddle  up  and  down  the  poop.  He 
wore  loose  silk  trousers,  and  the  round  legs  inside  moved  like  a  con- 
trivance made  out  of  two  gate-posts. 

He  v/as  absurd.  They  all  were  that  before  our  sweet  reason- 
ableness. But  this  atmosphere,  full  of  interest  and  good  will,  was 
good  to  breathe.  The  very  steward — the  same  who  had  been 
hiding  in  the  lazarette  during  the  fight — a  hunted  creature,  dis- 
playing the  most  insignificant  anatomy  ever  inhabited  by  a  quailing 
spirit,  devoted  himself  to  the  manufacture  of  strange  cakes,  which 
at  tea-time  he  would  deposit  smoking  hot  in  front  of  Seraphina's 
place.  After  each  such  exploit,  he  appeared  amazed  at  his  audacity 
in  taking  so  much  upon  himself.  The  carpenter  took  more  than  a 
day,  tinkering  at  an  old  ship's  boat.  He  was  a  Shetlander — a 
sort  of  shaggy  hj^perborean  giant  with  a  forbidding  face,  an  ap- 
praising, contemplative  manner,  and  many  nails  in  his  mouth.  At 
last  the  time  came  when  he,  too,  approached  our  oblivion  from 
behind,  with  a  large  hammer  in  his  hand ;  but  instead  of  braining 


268  ROMANCE 

us  with  one  sweep  of  his  mighty  arm,  he  remarked  simply  In  un- 
couth accents,  "There  now;  I  am  thinking  she  will  do  well  for 
what  ye  want  her.    I  can  do  no  more  for  ye." 

We  turned  round,  arm-in-arm,  to  look  at  the  boat.  There  she 
was,  lying  careened  on  the  deck,  with  patched  sides,  in  a  belt  of 
chips,  shavings,  and  sawdust;  a  few  pensive  sailors  stood  about, 
gazing  down  at  her  with  serious  eyes.  Sebright,  bent  double, 
circled  slowly  on  a  prowl  of  minute  inspection.  Suddenly  straight- 
ening himself  up,  he  pronounced  a  curt  "  She'll  do  ";  and,  without 
looking  at  us  at  all,  went  off  busily  with  his  rapid  stride. 

A  light  sigh  floated  down  upon  our  heads.  Williams  and  his 
wife  appeared  on  the  poop  above  us  like  an  allegorical  couple 
of  repletion  and  starvation,  conceived  in  a  fantastic  vein  on  a 
balcony.  A  cigar  smoldered  in  his  stumpy  red  fingers.  She  had 
slipped  a  hand  under  his  arm,  as  she  would  always  do  the  moment 
they  came  near  each  other.  She  never  looked  more  wasted  and 
old-maidish  than  when  thus  affirming  her  wifely  rights.  But  her 
eyes  were  motherly. 

"  Ah,  my  dears!  "  (She  usually  addressed  Seraphina  as  "  miss," 
and  myself  as  "  young  sir.")  "  Ah,  my  dears!  It  seems  so  heart- 
less to  be  sending  you  ofE  in  such  a  small  boat,  even  for  your  own 
good." 

"  Never  fear,  Mary.  Repaired.  Carry  six  comfortably,"  re- 
assured Williams  in  a  tremendous  mutter,  like  a  bull. 

"  But  why  can't  you  give  them  one  of  the  others,  Owen  ?  That 
big  one  there?  " 

"  Nonsense,  Mary.  Never  see  boat  again.  Wouldn't  grudge 
it.  Only  Sebright  is  quite  right.  Didn't  you  hear  what  Sebright 
said?  Very  sensible.  Ask  Sebright.  He  will  explain  to  you 
again." 

It  was  Sebright,  with  his  asperity  and  his  tact,  with  fits  of 
brusqueness  subdued  by  an  almost  affectionate  contempt,  who 
conducted  all  their  affairs,  as  I  have  seen  a  trustworthy  and  ex- 
perienced old  nurse  rule  the  infinite  perplexities  of  a  room  full  of 
children.  His  clear-sightedness  and  mental  grip  seemed  independ- 
ent of  age  and  experience,  like  the  ability  of  genius.  He  had  an 
imaginative  eye  for  detail,  and,  starting  from  a  mere  hint,  would 
go  scheming  onwards  with  astonishing  precision.     His  plan,  to 


PART  FOURTH  269 

which  we  were  committed — committed  helplessly  and  without 
resistance — was  based  upon  the  necessity  of  our  leaving  the  ship. 

He  had  developed  it  to  me  that  evening,  in  the  cabin,  directly 
Castro  had  gone  out.  He  had  already  got  Williams  and  his  wife 
to  share  his  view  of  our  situation.  He  began  by  laying  it  down 
that  in  every  desperate  position  there  was  a  loophole  for  escape. 
Like  other  great  men,  he  was  conscious  of  his  ability,  and  was 
inclined  to  theorize  at  large  for  a  while.  You  had  to  accept  the 
situation,  go  with  it  in  a  measure;  and  as  you  had  walked  into 
trouble  with  your  eyes  shut,  you  had  only  to  continue  with  your 
eyes  open.  Time  was  the  only  thing  that  could  defeat  one.  H 
you  had  no  time,  he  admitted,  you  were  at  a  dead  vi^all.  In  this 
case  he  judged  there  would  be  time,  because  O'Brien,  warned  al- 
ready, would  sit  tight  for  a  few  days,  being  sure  to  get  hold  of  us 
directly  the  Lion  came  into  port.  It  was  only  if  the  Lion  failed  to 
turn  up  within  a  reasonable  term  in  Havana,  that  he  would  take 
fright,  and  take  measures  to  hunt  her  up  at  sea.  But  I  might  rest 
assured  that  the  Lion  was  going  to  Havana  as  fast  as  the  winds 
would  allow  her. 

What  was,  then,  the  situation?  he  continued,  looking  at  me 
piercingly  above  Williams'  cropped  head.  I  had  run  away  for 
dear  life  from  Cuba  (taking  with  me  what  was  best  in  it,  to  be 
sure,  he  interjected,  with  a  faint  smile  towards  Seraphina).  I 
had  no  money,  no  friends  (except  my  friends  in  this  cabin,  he  was 
good  enough  to  say)  ;  warrants  out  against  me  in  Jamaica;  no 
means  to  get  to  England;  no  safety  in  the  ship.  It  was  no  use 
shirking  that  little  fact.  We  must  leave  the  Lion.  This  was  a 
hopeless  enough  position.  But  it  was  hopeless  only  because  it  was 
not  looked  upon  in  the  right  way.  We  assumed  that  we  had  to 
leave  her  forever,  while  the  whole  secret  of  the  trick  was  in  this, 
that  we  need  only  leave  her  for  a  time.  After  O'Brien's  myrmidons 
had  gone  through  her,  and  had  been  hooted  away  empty-handed, 
she  became  again,  if  not  absolutely  safe,  then  at  least  possible — 
the  only  possible  refuge  for  us — the  only  decent  means  of  reaching 
England  together,  where,  he  understood,  our  trouble  would  cease. 
Williams  nodded  approval  heavily. 

"  The  friends  of  Miss  Riego  would  be  glad  to  know  she  had 
made  the  passage  under  the  care  of  a  respectable  married  lady," 


270  ROMANCE 

Sebright  explained,  in  that  imperturbable  manner  of  his,  which 
reflected  faintly  all  his  inner  moods — whether  of  recklessness,  of 
jocularity  or  anxiety — and  often  his  underlying  scorn.  His  gravity 
grew  perfectly  portentous.  "  Mrs.  Williams,"  he  continued, 
"  was,  of  course,  very  anxious  to  do  her  part  creditably.  As  it 
happened,  the  Lion  was  chartered  for  London  this  voyage;  and 
notwithstanding  her  natural  desire  to  rejoin,  as  soon  as  possible, 
her  home  and  her  aged  uncle  in  Bristol,  she  intended  to  go  with 
the  young  lady  in  a  hackney  coach  to  the  very  door." 

I  had  previously  told  them  that  the  lately  appointed  Spanish 
ambassador  in  London  was  a  relation  of  the  Riegos,  and  personally 
acquainted  with  Seraphina,  who,  nearly  two  years  before,  had  been 
on  a  short  visit  to  Spain,  and  had  lived  for  some  months  with  his 
family  in  Madrid,  I  believe.  No  trouble  or  difficulty  was  to  be 
apprehended  as  to  proper  recognition,  or  in  the  matter  of  rights 
and  inheritance,  and  so  on.  The  ambassador  would  make  that  his 
own  affair.  And  for  the  rest  I  trusted  the  decision  of  her  character 
and  the  strength  of  her  affection.  I  was  not  afraid  she  would  let 
anyone  talk  her  out  of  an  engagement,  the  dying  wish  of  her  near- 
est kinsman,  sealed,  as  it  were,  with  the  blood  of  her  father.  This 
matter  of  temporary  absence  from  the  Liorij  however,  seemed  to 
present  an  insuperable  difficulty.  We  could  not,  obviously,  be  left 
for  days  floating  in  an  open  boat  outside  Havana  harbor,  waiting 
till  the  ship  came  out  to  pick  us  up.  Sebright  himself  admitted  that 
at  first  he  did  not  see  how  it  could  be  contrived.  He  didn't  see  at 
all.  He  thought  and  thought.  It  was  enough  to  sicken  one  of 
every  sort  of  thinking.  Then,  suddenly,  the  few  v^ords  Castro 
had  let  drop  about  the  sugar  estate  and  the  relay  of  mules  came 
into  his  head — providentially,  as  Mrs.  Williams  would  say.  He 
fancied  that  the  primitive  and  grandiose  manner  for  a  gentleman 
to  keep  a  relay  of  mules — any  amount  of  mules — in  case  he  should 
want  to  send  a  letter  or  two,  caused  the  circumstance  to  stick  in 
his  mind.  At  once  he  had  "  our  little  hidalgo  "  in,  and  put  him 
through  an  examination. 

"  He  turned  fairly  sulky,  and  tried  constantly  to  break  out 
against  you,  till  Dona  Seraphina  here  gave  him  a  good  talking  to," 
Sebright  said. 

Otherwise  it  was  most  satisfactory.     The  place  was  accessible 


PART  FOURTH  271 

from  the  sea  through  a  narrow  inlet,  opening  into  a  small,  per- 
fectly sheltered  basin  at  the  back  of  the  sand-dunes.  The  little 
river  watering  the  estate  emptied  itself  into  that  basin.  One  could 
land  from  a  boat  there,  he  understood,  as  if  in  a  dock — and  it  was 
the  very  devil  if  I  and  Miss  Riego  could  not  lie  hidden  for  a  few 
days  on  her  own  property,  the  more  so  that,  as  it  came  out  in  the 
course  of  the  discussion,  while  I  had  "  rushed  out  to  look  at  the 
sunset,"  that  the  manager,  or  whatever  they  called  him — the  fellow 
in  charge — was  the  husband  of  Dona  Seraphina's  old  nurse-woman. 
Of  course,  it  behooved  us  to  make  as  little  fuss  as  possible — try  to 
reach  the  house  along  bypaths  early  in  the  morning,  when  all  the 
slaves  would  be  out  at  work  in  the  fields.  Castro,  who  professed 
to  know  the  locality  very  well  indeed,  would  be  of  use.  Mean- 
time, the  Lion  would  make  her  way  to  Havana,  as  if  nothing  was 
the  matter.  No  doubt  all  sorts  of  confounded  alguazils  and  cus- 
tom-house hounds  would  be  ready  to  swarm  on  board  in  full  cry. 
They  would  be  made  very  welcome.  Any  strangers  on  board? 
Certainly  not.  Why  should  there  be?  .  .  .  Rio  Medio?  What 
about  Rio  Medio?  Hadn't  been  within  miles  and  miles  of  Rio 
Medio;  tried  this  trip  to  beat  up  well  clear  of  the  coast.  Search 
the  ship?  With  pleasure — every  nook  and  cranny.  He  didn't 
suppose  they  would  have  the  cheek  to  talk  of  the  pirates ;  but  if  they 
did  venture — what  then?  Pirates?  That's  very  serious  and  dis- 
honorable to  the  power  of  Spain.  Personally,  had  seen  nothing 
of  pirates.  Thought  they  had  all  been  captured  and  hanged  quite 
lately.  Rumors  of  the  Lion  having  been  attacked  obviously  un- 
true. Some  other  ship,  perhaps.  .  .  .  That  was  the  line  to  take. 
If  it  didn't  convince  them,  it  would  puzzle  them  altogether.  Of 
course,  Captain  Williams,  in  his  great  regard  for  me,  had  aban- 
doned the  intention  of  making  an  affair  of  state  of  the  outrage 
committed  on  his  ship.  He  would  not  lodge  any  complaint  in  Ha- 
vana— nothing  at  all.  The  old  women  of  the  Admiralty  wouldn't 
be  made  to  sit  up  this  time.  No  report  would  be  sent  to  the 
admiral  either.  Only,  if  the  ship  were  interfered  with,  and  both- 
ered under  any  pretense  whatever,  once  they  had  been  given  every 
facility  to  have  one  good  look  everywhere,  the  admiral  would  be 
asked  to  stop  it.  And  the  Spanish  authorities  would  have  not  a 
leg  to  stand  on  either,  for  this  simple  reason,  that  they  could  not 


272  ROMANCE 

very  well  own  to  the  sources  of  their  information.  Meantime,  all 
hands  on  board  the  Lion  had  to  be  taken  into  confidence;  that  could 
not  be  avoided.  He,  Sebright,  answered  for  their  discretion  while 
sober,  anyhow ;  and  he  promised  me  that  no  leave  or  money  would 
be  given  in  Havana,  for  fear  they  should  get  on  a  spree,  and  let 
out  something  in  the  grog-shops  on  shore.  We  all  knew  what  a 
sailor-man  was  after  a  glass  or  two.  So  that  was  settled.  Now, 
as  to  our  rejoining  the  Lion.  This,  of  necessity,  must  be  left  to 
me.  Counting  from  the  time  we  parted  from  her  to  land  on  the 
coast,  the  Lion  would  remain  in  Havana  sixteen  days;  and  if  we 
did  not  turn  up  in  that  time,  and  the  cargo  was  all  on  board  by 
then,  Captain  Williams  would  try  to  remain  in  harbor  on  one 
pretense  or  another  a  few  days  longer.  But  sixteen  days  should 
be  ample,  and  it  was  even  better  not  to  hurry  up  too  much.  To 
arrive  on  the  fifteenth  day  would  be  the  safest  proceeding  in  a  way, 
but  for  the  cutting  of  the  thing  too  fine,  perhaps.  With  all  these 
mules  at  our  disposal,  Sebright  didn't  see  why  we  should  not  make 
our  way  by  land,  pass  through  the  town  at  night,  or  in  the  earliest 
morning,  and  go  straight  on  board  the  Lion — perhaps  use  some 
sort  of  disguise.  He  couldn't  say.  He  was  out  of  it  there.  Black- 
ened faces  or  something.  An}rvvay,  we  would  be  looked  out  for 
on  board  night  and  day. 

Later  on,  however,  we  had  learned  from  Castro  that  the  estate 
possessed  a  sailing  craft  of  about  twenty  tons,  which  made  frequent 
trips  to  Havana.  These  sugar  droghers  belonging  to  the  planta- 
tions (every  estate  on  the  coast  had  one  or  more)  went  in  and  out 
of  the  harbor  without  being  taken  much  notice  of.  Sometimes  the 
battery  at  the  water's  edge  on  the  north  side  or  a  custom-house 
guard  would  hail  them,  but  not  often — and  even  then  only  to  ask 
the  name,  where  from,  and  for  the  number  of  sugar-hogsheads  on 
board.  "  By  heavens!  That's  the  very  thing!  "  rejoiced  Sebright. 
And  it  was  agreed  that  this  would  be  our  best  way.  We  should 
time  our  arrival  for  early  morning,  or  else  at  dusk.  The  craft  that 
brought  us  in  should  be  made,  by  a  piece  of  unskillful  management, 
to  fall  aboard  the  Lion^  and  remain  alongside  long  enough  to  give 
us  time  to  sneak  in  through  an  open  deck-port. 

The  whole  occurrence  must  be  so  contrived  as  to  wear  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  pure  accident  to  the  onlookers,  should  there  be  any. 


PART  FOURTH  273 

Shouting  and  an  exchange  of  abuse  on  both  parts  should  sound  ver}' 
true.  Then  the  drogher^  getting  herself  clear,  would  proceed  in- 
nocently to  the  custom-house  steps,  where  all  such  coasters  had  to 
report  themselves  on  arrival.  "  Never  fear.  We  shall  put  in 
some  loud  and  scandalous  cursing,"  Sebright  assured  me.  "  The 
bo3^s  will  greatly  enjoy  that  part,  I  dare  say." 

Remained  to  consider  the  purpose  of  the  schooner  that  had 
come  out  of  Rio  Medio  to  hang  on  our  skirts.  It  was  doubtful 
whether  it  was  in  our  power  to  shake  her  off.  Sebright  was  full 
of  admiration  for  her  sailing  qualities,  coupled  with  infinite  con- 
tempt for  the  "  lubberly  gang  on  board." 

"  If  I  had  the  handling  of  her,  now,"  he  said,  "  I  would  take  my 
position  as  near  as  I  liked,  and  stick  there.  It  seems  almost  as  if 
she  would  do  it  of  herself,  if  those  imbeciles  would  only  let  her 
have  her  own  way.  I  never  yet  saw  a  Spaniard,  good  or  bad,  that 
was  anything  of  a  sailor.  As  it  is,  we  may  maintain  a  distance 
that  would  make  it  difficult  for  them  to  see  what  we  are  about. 
And  if  not,  then — avhy,  you  must  take  your  leave  of  us  at  night." 

He  didn't  know  that,  but  for  the  dismalness  of  such  a  departure, 
it  were  not  just  as  well.  Who  could  tell  what  eyes  might  be 
watching  on  shore. 

"  You  know  I  never  pretended  my  plan  was  quite  safe.  But 
have  you  got  another?  " 

I  made  no  answer,  because  I  had  no  other,  and  could  not  think 
of  one.  Incredible  as  it  may  appear,  not  only  my  heart,  but  my 
mind,  also,  in  the  awakened  comprehension  of  my  love,  refused 
to  grapple  v^^ith  difficulties.  IVIy  thoughts  raced  ahead  of  ships 
and  pursuing  men,  into  a  dream  of  cloudless  felicity  without  end. 
And  I  don't  think  Sebright  expected  any  suggestion  from  me. 
This  took  place  during  one  of  our  busy  talks — only  he  and  I — 
alone  in  his  cabin.  He  had  been  washing  his  hands,  making  ready 
for  tea. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  turning  full  on  me,  and  wiping  his 
fingers  carefully  with  a  coarse  towel — "  do  you  know,  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  that  schooner  were  not  keeping  watch  on  us,  in  suspicion 
of  just  some  such  move  on  our  part.  'Tis  extraordinary  how 
clever  the  greatest  fool  may  show  himself  sometimes.  Only,  with 
their  lubberly  Spanish  seamanship,  they  would  expect  us,  probably. 


2  74  ROMANCE 

to  make  a  whole  ceremony  of  your  landing :  ship  hove  to  for  hours 
close  in  shore,  a  boat  going  off  to  land  and  returning,  and  all  such 
pother.  '  We  are  sure  to  see  their  little  show,'  they  think  to  them- 
selves. Eh?  What?  Whereas  we  shall  keep  well  clear  of  the 
land  when  the  time  comes,  and  drop  you  in  the  dark  without  as 
much  check  on  our  way  as  there  is  in  the  wink  of  an  eye.  Hey? 
.  .  .  Mind,  Mr.  Kemp,  you  take  the  boat  out  of  sight  up  that 
little  river,  in  case  they  should  have  a  fancy,  as  they  go  along 
after  us,  to  peep  into  that  inlet.  As  I  have  said,  it  wouldn't  do 
to  trust  too  much  in  any  fool's  folly." 

And  now  the  time  was  approaching;  the  time  to  awake  and  step 
forth  out  of  the  temple  of  sunshine  and  love — of  whispers  and 
silences.  It  had  come.  The  night  before  both  Williams  and 
Sebright  had  been  on  deck,  working  the  ship  w^ith  an  anxious  care 
to  take  the  utmost  advantage  of  every  favoring  flaw  in  the  con- 
trary breeze.  In  the  morning  I  was  told  there  was  a  norther 
brewing.  A  norther  is  a  tempestuous  gale.  I  saw  no  signs  of  it. 
The  realm  of  the  sun,  like  the  vanished  one  of  the  stars,  appeared 
to  my  senses  to  be  profoundly  asleep,  and  breathing  as  gently  as  a 
child  upon  the  ship.  The  Lion,  too,  seemed  to  lie  wrapped  in  an 
enchanted  slumber  from  the  water-line  to  the  tops  of  her  upright 
masts.  And  yet  she  moved  with  the  breath  of  the  world,  but  so 
imperceptibly  that  it  was  the  coast  that  seemed  to  be  nearing 
her  like  a  line  of  low  vapor  blown  along  the  water.  Between 
Williams  and  Sebright  Castro  pointed  with  his  one  arm,  and  a 
splutter  of  guttural  syllables  fell  like  hail  out  of  his  lips.  The 
other  two  seemed  incredulous.  He  stamped  with  both  his  feet 
angrily.  Finally  they  went  below  together,  to  look  at  the  chart, 
I  suppose.  They  came  up  again  very  fast,  one  after  another,  and 
stood  in  a  row,  looking  on  as  before.  Three  more  dissimilar  human 
beings  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  imagine. 

Dazzling  white  patches,  about  the  size  of  a  man's  hand,  came  out 
between  sky  and  water.  They  grew  in  width,  and  ran  together 
with  a  hummocky  outline  into  a  continuous  undulation  of  sand- 
dunes.  Here  and  there  this  rampart  had  a  gap  like  a  breach  made 
by  guns.  Mrs.  Williams,  behind  me,  blew  her  nose  faintly;  her 
eyes  were  red,  but  she  did  not  look  at  us.  No  eye  was  turned  our 
way,  and  the  spell  of  the  coast  was  on  her,  too.    A  low,  dark  head- 


PART  FOURTH  275 

land  broke  out  to  view  through  the  dunes,  and  stood  there  con- 
spicuous amongst  the  heaps  of  dazzling  sand,  like  a  small  man 
frowning.    A  voice  on  deck  pronounced: 

"  That's  right.  Here's  his  landmark.  The  fellow  knew  very 
well  what  he  was  talking  about." 

It  was  Sebright's  voice,  and  Castro,  strolling  away  triumphantly, 
affected  to  turn  his  back  on  the  land.  He  had  recognized  the 
formation  of  the  coast  about  the  inlet  long  before  anybody  else 
could  distinguish  the  details.  His  word  had  been  doubted.  He 
was  offended,  and  passed  us  by,  wrapping  himself  up  closely.  One 
of  Seraphina's  locks  blew  against  my  cheek,  and  this  last  effort  of 
the  breeze  remained  snared  in  the  silken  meshes  of  her  hair. 

"  There's  not  enough  wind  to  fill  the  sail  of  a  toy  boat," 
grumbled  Sebright;  "and  you  can't  pull  this  heavy  gig  ashore 
with  only  that  one-armed  man  at  the  other  oar."  He  was  sorry 
he  could  not  send  us  off  with  four  good  rowers.  The  norther 
might  be  coming  on  before  they  could  return  to  the  ship,  and — 
apart  from  the  presence  of  four  English  sailors  on  the  coast  being 
sure  to  get  talked  about — there  was  the  difficulty  in  getting  them 
back  on  board  in  Havana.  We  could,  no  doubt,  smuggle  ourselves 
in ;  but  six  people  would  make  too  much  of  a  show.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  absence  of  four  men  out  of  the  ship's  company  could  not 
be  accounted  for  very  well  to  the  authorities.  "  We  can't  say  they 
all  died,  and  we  threw  them  overboard.  It  would  be  too  startling. 
No ;  you  must  go  alone,  and  leave  us  at  the  first  breath  of  wind ; 
and  that,  I  fear,  '11  be  the  first  of  the  norther,  too." 

He  threw  his  head  back,  and  hailed,  "  Do  you  see  anything  of 
that  schooner  from  aloft  there?" 

"  Nothing  of  her,  sir,"  answered  a  man  perched,  with  dangling 
feet,  astride  the  very  end  of  the  topsail  yardarm.  He  paused, 
scanned  the  space  from  under  the  flat  of  his  hand,  and  added, 
shouting  with  deliberation,  "  There's — a — haze — to  seaward,  sir." 
The  ship,  with  her  decks  sprinkled  over  with  men  in  twos  and 
threes,  sent  up  to  his  ears  a  murmur  of  satisfaction. 

If  we  could  not  see  her,  she  could  not  see  us.  This  was  a 
favorable  circumstance.  To  the  infinite  gratification  of  everyone 
on  board,  it  had  been  discovered  at  daylight  that  the  schooner  had 
lost  touch  with  us  during  the  hours  of  darkness — either  through 


276  ROMANCE 

unskillful  handling,  or  from  some  accidental  disadvantage  of  the 
variable  wind.  I  had  been  informed  of  it,  directly  I  showed  myself 
on  deck  in  the  morning,  by  several  men  who  had  radiant  grins,  as 
if  some  great  piece  of  luck  had  befallen  them,  one  and  all.  They 
shared  their  unflagging  attention  between  the  land  and  the  sea- 
horizon,  pointing  out  to  each  other,  with  their  tattooed  arms,  the 
features  of  the  coast,  nodding  knowingly  towards  the  open.  At 
midday  most  of  them  brought  out  their  dinners  on  deck,  and  coulcj 
be  seen  forward,  each  with  a  tin  plate  in  the  left  hand,  gesticu- 
lating amicably  with  clasp  knives.  A  small  white  handkerchief 
hung  from  Mrs.  Williams'  fingers,  and  now  and  then  she  touched 
her  eyes  lightly,  one  after  the  other.  Her  husband  and  Sebright, 
with  a  grave  mien,  stamped  busily  around  the  binnacle  aft,  chang- 
ing places,  making  way  for  each  other,  stooping  in  turns  to  glance 
carefully  along  the  compass  card  at  the  low  bluff,  like  two  gun- 
ners laying  a  piece  of  heavy  ordnance  for  an  important  shot.  The 
steward,  emerging  out  of  the  companion,  rang  a  hand-bell  vio- 
lently, and  remained  scared  at  the  failure  of  that  appeal.  After 
waiting  for  a  moment,  he  produced  a  further  feeble  tinkle,  and 
sank  down  out  of  sight,  with  resignation. 

A  white  sun,  as  if  blazing  with  the  pallor  of  fury,  swung  past 
the  zenith  in  a  profound  and  universal  stillness.  There  was  not  a 
wrinkle  on  the  sea;  it  presented  a  lustrous  and  glittering  level, 
like  the  polished  facet  of  a  gem.  In  the  cabin  we  sat  down  to  the 
meal,  not  even  pretending,  a  desire  to  eat,  exchanging  vague 
phrases,  hanging  our  heads  over  the  empty  plates.  But  the  regular 
footsteps  of  the  boatswain  left  in  charge  hesitated,  stopped  near 
the  skylight.  He  said  in  an  imperfectly  assured  voice,  "  Seems  as 
if  there  was  a  steadier  draught  coming  now."  At  this  we  rose 
from  the  table  impetuously,  as  though  he  had  shouted  an  alarm 
of  fire,  and  Mrs.  Williams,  with  a  little  cry,  ran  round  to  Sera- 
phina.  Leaving  the  two  women  locked  in  a  silent  embrace,  the 
captain,  Sebright,  and  myself   hurried  out  on  deck. 

Every  man  in  the  ship  had  done  the  same.  Even  the  shiny  black 
cook  had  come  out  of  his  galley,  and  was  already  comfortably 
seated  on  the  rail,  baring  his  white  teeth  to  the  sunshine. 

"  Just  about  enough  to  blow  out  a  farthing  dip,"  said  Sebright, 
in  a  disappointed  mutter. 


PART  FOURTH  277 

He  thought,  however,  we  had  better  not  wait  for  more.  There 
would  be  too  much  presently.  Some  sailors  hauled  the  boat  along- 
side, the  rest  lined  the  rail  as  for  a  naval  spectacle,  and  Williams 
stared  blankly.  We  were  waiting  for  Seraphina,  who  appeared, 
attended  by  Mrs.  Williams,  looking  more  kind,  bloodless,  and 
ascetic  than  ever.  But  my  girl's  cheeks  glowed ;  her  eyes  sparkled 
audaciously.  She  had  done  up  her  hair  in  some  way  that  made 
it  fit  her  head  like  a  cap.  It  became  her  exceedingly,  and  the 
decision  of  her  movements,  the  white  serenity  of  her  brow,  dazzled 
me  as  if  I  had  never  seen  her  before.  She  seemed  less  childlike, 
older,  ripe  for  this  adventure  in  a  new  development  of  strength 
and  courage.  She  inclined  her  head  slowly  at  the  gaping  sailors, 
who  had  taken  their  caps  off. 

As  soon  as  she  appeared,  Castro,  who  had  been  leaning  against 
the  bulwark,  started  up,  and  with  a  rnuttered  "  Adios,  sehores" 
went  down  the  overside  ladder  and  ensconced  himself  in  the  bow 
of  the  boat.  The  leave-taking  was  hurried  over,  Williams  gave 
no  sign  of  feeling,  except,  perhaps,  for  the  greater  intensity  of 
his  stare,  w^hich  passed  beyond  our  shoulders  in  the  very  act  of 
handshaking.  Sebright  helped  Seraphina  down  into  the  boat,  and 
ran  up  again  nimbly.  Mrs,  Williams,  with  her  slim  hand  held  in 
both  mine,  uttered  a  few  incoherent  words — about  men's  promises 
and  the  happiness  of  women,  as  I  thought;  but,  truth  to  say,  my 
own  suppressed  excitement  was  too  considerable  for  close  attention, 
I  only  knew  that  I  had  given  her  my  confidence,  that  complete  and 
utter  confidence  which  neither  wisdom  nor  power,  alone,  can  com- 
mand. And,  suddenly,  it  occurred  to  me  that  the  heiress  of  a 
splendid  name  and  fortune,  down  in  the  boat  there,  had  no  better 
friend  in  the  world  than  this  woman,  who  had  come  to  us  out  of 
the  waste  of  the  sea,  opening  her  simple  heart  to  our  need,  like  a 
pious  and  naive  hermit  in  a  wilderness  throwing  open  the  door  of 
his  cell  to  strange  wayfarers. 

"  Mrs.  Williams,"  I  stammered,  "  If  we — if  I — there's  no 
saying  what  may  happen  to  any  of  us.  If  she  ever  comes  to  you 
— if  she  ever  is  in  want  of  help.   ..." 

"  Yes,  yes.    Always,  always — like  my  own  daughter." 

And  the  good  woman  broke  down,  as  if,  indeed,  I  were  taking 
her  own  daughter  away. 


278  ROMANCE 

"Nonsense,  Mary!"  Williams  advanced,  muttering  tremen- 
dously. "  They  are  not  going  round  the  world.  Dare  say  get 
ashore  in  time  for  supper." 

He  stared  through  her  without  expression,  as  if  she  had  been 
thin  air,  but  she  seized  his  arm,  of  course,  and  he  gave  me,  then, 
an  amazingly  rapid  wink  which,  I  suppose,  meant  that  I  should 
go.   .   .   . 

"All  right  there?"  asked  Sebright  from  above,  as  soon  as  I 
had  taken  my  seat  in  the  stern  sheets  by  the  side  of  Seraphina.  He 
was  standing  on  the  poop  deck  ready  with  a  sign  for  letting  go 
the  end  of  our  painter  on  deck ;  but  before  I  could  answer  in  the 
affirmative,  Castro,  ensconced  forward  under  his  hat,  drew  his 
ready  blade  across  the  rope,  as  it  were  a  throat. 

At  once  a  narrow  strip  of  water  opened  between  the  boat  and 
the  ship,  and  our  long-prepared  departure,  hastened  thus  by  half 
a  second,  seemed  to  strike  everybody  dumb  with  surprise, 
as  if  we  had  taken  wings  to  ourselves  to  fly  away.  Hastily  I 
grasped  the  tiller  to  give  the  boat  a  sheer,  and  heard  a  sort  of  loud 
gasp  in  the  air  above.  A  row  of  heads,  posed  on  chins  all  along  the 
rail,  stared  after  us  with  unanimous  fixity.  Mrs.  Williams 
averted  her  face  on  her  husband's  shoulder.  Behind  the  couple, 
Sebright  raised  his  cap  gravely. 

Our  little  sail  filled  to  a  breeze  which  was  much  too  feeble  to 
produce  a  perceptible  effect  on  the  ship,  and  we  left  behind  us  her 
towering  form,  as  one  recedes  from  a  tall  white  spire  on  a  plain. 
I  laid  the  boat's  head  straight  for  the  dwarf  headland,  marking 
the  mouth  of  the  inlet  on  the  interminable  range  of  sand-dunes. 
We  drove  on  with  a  smart  ripple,  but  before  we  felt  sufficiently 
settled  to  exchange  a  few  words  the  animated  sound  languished 
suddenly,  paused  altogether,  and,  with  a  renewed  murmur  under 
our  feet,  seemed  to  lose  itself  below  the  glassy  waters. 


CHAPTER  VII 


I 


"^  HE  calm  had  returned.  The  sea,  changing  from  the 
warm  glitter  of  a  gem,  and  attuned  to  the  grays  and 
blacks  of  space,  resembled  a  monstrous  cinder  under  a 
sky  of  ashes. 

The  sun  had  disappeared,  smothered  in  these  clouds  that  had 
formed  themselves  all  at  once  and  everyw^here,  like  some  swift 
corruption  of  the  upper  air.  For  the  best  part  of  the  afternoon 
the  ship  and  the  boat  remained  lying  at  right  angles,  within  half  a 
mile  of  each  other.  What  light  was  left  in  the  world,  cut  off  from 
the  source  of  life,  seemed  to  sicken  with  a  strange  decay.  The  long 
stretch  of  sands  and  the  sails  of  the  motionless  vessel  stood  out 
lividly  pale  in  universal  gloom.  And  yet  the  state  of  the  atmos- 
phere was  such  that  we  could  see  clear-cut  the  very  folds  in  the 
steep  face  of  the  dunes,  and  the  figures  of  the  people  moving  on  the 
poop  of  the  Lion.  There  was  alwaj^s  somebody  there  that  had  the 
aspect  of  watching  us.  Then,  with  some  excitement,  we  saw  them 
on  board  haul  up  the  mainsail  and  lower  the  gig. 

The  four  oars  beat  the  somber  water,  rising  and  falling  appar- 
ently in  the  same  place.  She  was  an  interminable  time  coming  on, 
but  as  she  neared  us  I  was  surprised  at  her  dashing  speed.  Se- 
bright, who  steered,  laid  her  alongside  smartly,  and  two  of  his 
men,  clambering  over  without  a  word,  lowered  our  lug  at  once. 

"  We  came  to  reef  your  sail  for  you.  You  couldn't  manage  that 
very  well  with  a  one-armed  crew,"  said  the  young  mate  quietly  in 
the  enormous  stillness.  In  his  opinion,  we  couldn't  expect  now 
any  wind  till  the  first  squall  came  down.  This  flurry,  as  he  called 
it,  would  send  us  in  smoking,  and  he  was  sure  it  would  help  the 
ship,  as  well,  into  Havana,  in  about  twenty-four  hours.  He  didn't 
think  that  it  would  come  very  heavy  at  first;  and,  once  landed,  we 
need  not  care  how  hard  it  blew. 

He  tendered  me  over  the  gunwale  a  pocket-flask  covered  with 
leather,  and  with  a  screwed  silver  stopper  in  the  shape  of  a  cup. 

279 


28o  ROMANCE 

It  was  from  the  captain;  full  of  prime  rum.  We  were  pretty- 
sure  to  get  wet.  He  thrust,  also,  into  my  hands  a  gray  woolen 
shawl.  Mrs.  Williams  thought  my  young  lady  might  be  glad 
of  it  at  night.  "  The  dear  old  woman  has  shut  herself  up  inside 
their  stateroom,  and  is  praying  for  you  now,"  he  concluded. 
"  Look  alive,  boys." 

His  men  did  not  answer  him,  but  at  some  words  he  addressed  to 
Castro,  the  latter,  in  the  bows  and  looking  at  the  coast,  growled 
with  a  surly  impatience.  He  was  perfectly  sure  of  the  entrance. 
Had  been  in  and  out  several  times.  Yes.  At  night,  too.  Sebright 
then  turned  to  me.  After  all,  it  was  not  so  difficult.  The  inlet 
bore  due  south  from  us,  and  the  wind  would  come  true  from  the 
north.  Always  did  in  these  bursts.  I  had  only  to  keep  dead 
before  it.  "  The  clouds  will  light  you  in  at  the  last,"  he  added 
meaningly,  glancing  upwards. 

The  two  sailors,  having  finished  reefing,  hoisted,  lowered,  and 
hoisted  again  the  yard  to  see  that  the  gear  ran  clear,  and  without 
one  look  at  us,  stepped  back  into  the  gig,  and  sat  down  in  their 
places.  For  a  moment  longer  we  lay  together,  touching  sides.  Se- 
bright extended  his  hand  from  boat  to  boat. 

"  You  are  in  God's  care  now,  Kemp,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  me, 
and  with  an  unexpected  depth  of  feeling  in  his  tone.  "  Take  no 
turn  with  the  sheet  on  any  account,  and  if  you  feel  it  coming  too 
heavy,  let  fly  and  chance  it.  Did  I  tell  you  we  have  sighted  the 
schooner  from  aloft?  No?  We  can  just  make  her  out  from  the 
main-yard  away  astern  under  the  land.  That  don't  matter  now. 
.  .  Senorita,  I  kiss  your  hands."  He  liked  to  air  his  Spanish. 
..."  Keep  cool  whatever  happens.  Dead  before  it — mind.  And 
count  on  sixteen  days  from  to-morrow.  Well.  No  more.  Give 
way,  boys." 

He  never  looked  back.  We  watched  the  boat  being  hoisted  and 
secured.  Shortly  afterwards,  as  we  were  observing  the  Lion  short- 
ening sail,  the  first  of  the  rain  descended  between  her  and  us  like 
a  lowered  veil.  For  a  time  she  remained  mistily  visible,  dark  and 
gaunt  with  her  bared  spars.  The  downpour  redoubled ;  she  dis- 
appeared ;  and  our  hearts  were  stirred  to  a  faster  beat. 

The  shower  fell  on  us,  around  us,  descending  perpendicularly, 
with  a  steady  force;  and  the  thunder  rolled  far  off,  as  if  coming 


PART  FOURTH  281 

from  under  the  sea.  Sometimes  the  muffled  rumbling  stopped,  and 
let  us  hear  plainly  the  gentle  hiss  and  the  patter  of  the  drops 
falling  upon  a  vast  expanse.  Suddenly,  mingled  with  a  loud  de- 
tonation right  over  our  heads,  a  burst  of  light  outlined  under  the 
bellying  strip  of  our  sail  the  pointed  crown  of  Castro's  hat,  re- 
posing on  a  heap  of  black  clothing  huddled  in  the  bows.  The 
darkness  swallowed  it  all.  I  swung  Seraphina  in  front  of  me,  and 
made  her  sit  low  on  the  stern  sheets  beneath  my  feet.  A  lot  of 
foam  boiled  up  around  the  boat,  and  we  had  the  sensation  of  having 
been  sent  flying  from  a  catapult. 

Everything  was  black — perfectly  black.  At  intervals,  headlong 
gusts  of  rain  swept  over  our  heads.  I  suppose  I  did  keep  suffi- 
ciently cool,  but  in  every  flash  of  lightning  the  wind,  the  sea,  the 
clouds,  the  rain,  and  the  boat  appeared  to  rush  together  thunder- 
ing upon  the  coast.  The  line  of  sands,  bordered  with  a  belt  of 
foam,  zigzagged  dazzlingly  upon  an  earth  as  black  as  the  clouds; 
only  the  headland,  with  every  vision,  remained  somber  and  un- 
moved. At  last  it  rose  up  right  before  the  boat.  Blue  lightning 
streamed  on  a  lane  of  tumbling  waters  at  its  foot.  Was  this  the 
entrance?  With  the  vague  notion  of  shortening  sail,  I  let  the 
sheet  go  from  my  hand.  There  was  a  jerk,  the  crack  of  snapped 
wood,  and  the  next  flash  showed  me  Castro  emerging  from  the 
ruins  of  mast  and  sail.  He  uprose,  hurling  the  wreck  from  him 
overboard,  then  flickered  out  of  sight  with  his  arm  waving  to  the 
left,  and  I  bore  accordingly  on  the  tiller.  In  a  moment  I  saw  him 
again,  erect  forward,  with  the  arm  pointing  to  the  right,  and  I 
obeyed  his  signal.  The  clouds,  straining  with  water  and  fire, 
were,  indeed,  lighting  us  on  our  way.  A  wave  swelled  astern, 
chasing  us  in;  rocking  frightfully,  we  glanced  past  a  stationary 
mass  of  foam — a  sandbar — breakers.  ...  It  was  terrible.  .  .  . 
Suddenly,  the  motion  of  the  boat  changed,  and  the  flickers  of  light- 
ning fell  into  a  small,  land-locked  basin.  The  wind  tore  deep 
furrows  in  it,  howling  and  scuffling  behind  the  dunes.  Spray  flew 
from  the  whole  surface,  the  entire  pool  of  a  bay  seemed  to  heave 
bodily  upwards,  and  I  saw  Castro  again,  with  his  face  to  me  this 
time.  His  black  cloak  was  blowing  straight  out  from  his  throat, 
his  mouth  yawned  wide;  he  shouted  directions,  but  in  an  instant 
darkness  sealed  my  eyes  with  its  impenetrable  impress.     It  was 


2  82  ROMANCE 

impossible  to  steer  now;  the  boat  swung  and  reeled  where  she 
listed ;  a  violent  shock  threw  me  sideways  off  my  seat.  I  felt  her 
turning  over,  and,  gathering  Seraphina  in  my  arms,  I  leaped  out 
before  she  capsized.    I  leaped  clear  out  into  shallow  water. 

I  should  never  in  my  life  have  thought  myself  capable  of  such 
a  feat,  and  yet  I  did  it  with  assurance,  with  no  effort  that  I  can 
remember.  More  than  that — I  managed,  after  the  leap,  to  keep 
my  feet  in  the  clinging,  staggering  clutch  of  water  charged  with 
sand,  which  swirled  heavily  about  my  knees.  It  kept  on  hurling 
itself  at  my  legs  from  behind,  while  I  waded  across  the  narrow 
strip  of  sand  with  an  inspired  firmness  of  step  defying  all  the  power 
of  the  elements.  I  felt  the  harder  ground  at  last,  but  not  before 
I  had  caught  a  momentary  glimpse  of  a  black  and  bulky  object 
tumbling  over  and  over  in  the  advancing  and  withdrawing  liquid 
flurry  of  the  beach. 

"  Sit  still  here  on  the  ground,"  I  shouted  to  Seraphina,  though 
flights  of  spray  enveloped  us  completely.  "  I  am  going  back  for 
Castro." 

I  faced  about,  putting  my  head  down.  He  had  been  undoubtedly 
knocked  over;  and  an  old  man,  with  only  one  hand  to  help  him- 
self with,  ran  a  very  serious  risk  of  being  buffeted  into  insensibility, 
and  thus  coming  to  his  death  in  some  four  feet  of  water.  The 
violent  glare  disclosed  a  body,  entangled  in  a  cloak,  rolling  about 
helplessly  between  land  and  water,  as  it  were.  I  dashed  on  in  the 
dark ;  a  wave  went  over  my  head  as  I  stooped,  nearly  waist-deep, 
groping.  His  rotary  motion,  in  that  smother,  made  it  extremely 
difficult  to  obtain  any  sort  of  hold.  A  little  more,  and  he  would 
have  knocked  my  legs  from  under  me,  but  it  was  as  if  my  grim 
determination  were  by  itself  of  a  saving  nature.  He  submitted  to 
being  hauled  up  the  beach,  passively,  like  a  sack.  It  was  a  heavy 
drag  on  the  sand ;  I  felt  him  bump  behind  me  on  the  edge  of  the 
harder  ground,  and  a  deluge  fell  uninterruptedly  from  above.  He 
lay  prone  on  his  face,  like  a  corpse,  between  Seraphina  and  myself. 
We  could  not  remain  there,  however.  But  where  to  go?  What 
to  do?  In  what  direction  to  look  for  a  refuge?  Was  there  any 
shelter  near  by?  How  were  we  to  reach  it?  How  were  we  to 
move  at  all  ?  No  doubt  he  had  expired ;  and  the  earth,  swept, 
deluged,  glimmering  fiercely  and  devastated  with  an  awful  uproar, 


PART  FOURTH  283 

appeared  no  longer  habitable.  A  thunder-clap  seemed  to  crash 
new  life  into  him;  the  world  flared  all  round,  as  if  turning  to  a 
spark,  and  he  was  seen  sitting  up  dazedly,  like  one  called  up  from 
the  dead.    Through  it  all  he  had  preserved  his  hat. 

It  was  fixed  firmly  down  under  his  chin  with  a  handkerchief, 
the  side  rims  over  his  ears  like  flaps,  and,  for  the  rest,  presenting 
the  appearance  of  a  coal-scuttle  bonnet  behind,  as  well  as  in  front. 
We  followed  its  peculiar  aspect.  Driving  on  under  this  inde- 
structible headgear,  he  flickered  in  and  out  of  the  world,  while, 
with  entwined  arms  and  leaning  back  against  the  wind  with  all 
our  might,  Seraphina  and  myself  were  borne  along  in  his  train. 
He  knew  of  a  shelter;  and  this  knov^'ledge,  perhaps,  and  also  his 
evident  familiarity  with  the  topography  of  the  country,  made  him 
appear  indomitably  confident  in  the  storm. 

A  small  plain  of  coarse  grass  was  bounded  by  the  steep  spur  of 
a  rise.  To  the  left  a  little  river  would  burst,  all  at  once,  in  all  its 
vi'indings  into  a  bluish  sulphurous  glow;  and  between  the  crashes 
of  thunder  there  was  heard  the  long-drawn,  whistling  swish  of  the 
rushes  and  cane-brakes  springing  on  the  boggy  ground.  We  skirted 
the  rise.  The  rain  beat  against  it ;  the  lightning  showed  its  stream- 
ing and  furrowed  surface.  We  stumbled  in  the  gusts.  We  felt 
under  our  feet,  mud,  sand,  rocky  inequalities  of  the  ground,  and 
the  moving  stones  in  the  bed  of  a  torrent,  which  broke  headlong 
against  our  ankles.    The  entrance  of  a  deep  ravine  opened. 

Its  lower  sides  palpitated  with  the  ceaseless  tossing  of  dwarf 
trees  and  bushes;  and,  motionless  above  the  somber  tumult  of  the 
slopes,  the  monumental  stretch  of  bare  rock  rose  on  high,  level  at 
the  top,  and  emitting  a  ghastly  yellow  sheen  in  the  flashes.  The 
thunder  claps  rolled  ponderously  between  the  narrowing  walls  of 
that  chasm,  that  was  all  aflame  one  moment,  and  all  black  the 
next.  A  torrent  springing  at  its  head,  and  dashing  with  inaudible 
fury  along  the  bottom,  seemed  to  gleam  placidly  amongst  the 
rounded  forms  of  inky  bushes  and  pale  bowlders  below  our  path. 
Enormous  eddies  of  wind  from  above  made  us  stop  short  and  totter 
breathless,  clinging  to  each  other. 

Castro  sustained  Seraphina  on  the  other  side;  but  frequently  he 
had  to  leave  us  and  move  ahead,  looking  for  the  way.  There  was, 
in  fact,  a  half-obliterated  path  winding  along  the  less  steep  of  the 


284  ROMANCE 

two  sides;  and  we  struggled  after  our  guide  with  the  unthinking 
fortitude  of  despair.  He  was  being  disclosed  to  us  so  suddenly, 
extinguished  so  swiftly,  that  he  appeared,  always,  as  if  motionless 
and  posturing  in  a  variety  of  climbing  attitudes.  The  rise  of  the 
bottom  was  very  steep,  and  the  last  hundred  yards  really  stiff. 
We  did  them  practically  on  our  hands  and  knees.  The  dislodged 
stones  bounded  away  from  under  our  feet,  unheard,  like  puff- 
balls. 

At  the  top  I  tried  to  make  of  my  body  a  shelter  for  Seraphina. 
The  wind  howled  and  roared  over  us. 

"Up!  Vamos!  The  worst  is  yet  before  us,"  shrieked  Castro 
in  my  ear. 

What  could  he  mean  by  this?  The  play  of  lightning  opened 
to  view  only  a  vast  and  rolling  upland.  Fire  flowed  in  sheets 
undulating  with  the  expanses  of  long  grass  amongst  the  trees, 
here  and  there,  in  coal-black  clumps,  and  flashed  violently  against 
a  low  edge  of  forests  very  dark  and  far  away. 

"  Let  us  go!  "  he  cried.     "  Courage,  senorita!  " 

Courage!  The  populace  said  of  her  that  she  had  never  needed 
to  put  her  foot  to  the  ground.  If  courage  consists,  for  a  being  so 
tender,  in  toiling  and  enduring  without  faltering  and  plaint, — even 
to  the  very  limit  of  physical  power, — then  she  was  the  most  cour- 
ageous woman  in  the  world,  as  she  was  the  most  charming,  most 
faithful,  most  generous,  and  the  most  worthy  of  love.  I  tried 
not  to  think  of  her  racked  limbs,  for  the  very  pain  and  pity  of  it. 
We  retraced  our  steps,  but  now  following  the  edge  of  that  preci- 
pice out  of  which  we  had  emerged.  I  had  peremptorily  insisted  on 
carrying  her.  She  put  her  arms  round  my  neck  and,  to  my  uplifted 
heart,  she  weighed  no  heavier  than  a  feather.  Castro,  grasping 
my  arm,  guided  my  steps  and  gave  me  support  against  the  wind. 

There  was  a  distinct  lull.  Even  the  thunder  had  rolled  away, 
dwindling  to  a  deep  mutter.  Castro  fell  on  his  knees  in  front 
of  me. 

"  It  is  here,"  I  heard  him  scream. 

I  set  Seraphina  down.  A  hooked  dart  of  fire  tore  in  two  the 
thick  canopy  of  clouds.    I  started  back  from  the  edge. 

"What!     Here?"  I  yelled. 

"  Seiior — Si!    There  is  a  cavern  below.   .   .   ." 


PART  FOURTH  285 

I  had  seen  a  ledge  clinging  to  the  face  of  the  rock. 

It  was  a  cornice  inclining  downwards  upon  the  wall  of  the 
precipice,  as  you  see,  sometimes,  a  flight  of  stairs  built  against  the 
outside  wall  of  a  house.  And  it  resembled  a  stair  roughly,  with 
long,  sloping  steps,  wet  with  rain. 

"  For  Dios,  sefior,  do  not  let  us  stay  to  think  here,  or  we  shall 
perish  in  this  tempest." 

He  howled,  gesticulated,  shrieked  with  all  the  strength  of  his 
lungs.  He  knew  these  tornadoes.  Brute  beasts  would  be  found 
lying  dead  in  the  fields  in  the  morning.  This  was  the  beginning 
only.  The  lightning  showed  his  kneeling  form,  the  eager  upturned 
face,  and  a  finger  pointing  urgently  into  the  abyss.  The  wind  was 
nothing!  Nothing  to  what  would  come  after.  As  he  shrieked 
these  words  I  was  feeling  the  crust  of  the  earth  vibrate,  absolutely 
vibrate,  under  the  soles  of  my  feet,  with  the  sound  of  thunder. 

He  unfastened  his  cloak,  and  was  seen  to  struggle  above  his  head 
with  the  hovering  and  flapping  cloth,  as  though  he  had  captured 
a  black  and  pugnacious  bird.  We  mastered  at  last  a  corner  each, 
and  then  we  started  to  twist  the  whole,  as  if  to  wring  the  w^ater 
out.  We  produced,  thus,  a  sort  of  short  rope,  the  thickness  of  a 
cable,  and  the  descent  began. 

"  Do  not  look  behind  you.    Do  not  look,"  Castro  screeched. 

The  first  downward  steps  were  terrible,  but  as  soon  as  our  heads 
had  sunk  below  the  level  of  the  plain  it  was  better,  for  we  had 
turned  about  to  the  rock,  moving  sideways,  cautiously,  one  step 
at  a  time,  as  if  inspecting  its  fractured  roughness  for  traces  of  a 
mysterious  inscription.  Castro,  with  one  end  of  the  twisted  cloak 
in  his  hand,  went  first;  I  held  the  other;  and  between  us,  Seraphina, 
the  rope  at  her  back,  imitated  our  movements,  with  her  loosened 
hair  flying  high  in  the  wind,  and  her  pale,  rigid  head  as  if  deaf  to 
the  crashes.  I  saw^  the  drawn  stillness  of  her  face,  her  dilated 
eyes  staring  within  three  inches  of  the  strata.  The  strain  on  our 
prudence  was  tremendous.  The  knowledge  of  the  precipice  behind 
must  have  affected  me.  Explain  it  as  you  will,  several  times  during 
that  descent  I  felt  my  brain  slip  away  from  my  control,  and  suggest 
a  desire  to  fling  myself  over  backwards.  The  twigs  of  the  bushes, 
growing  a  little  below  the  outer  edge  of  the  path,  swished  at  my 
calves. 


286  ROMANCE 

Castro  stopped.  The  cornice  ended  as  a  broken  stairway  hangs 
upon  nothing.  A  tall,  narrow  arch  stood  black  in  the  rock,  with 
a  sill  three  feet  high  at  least.  Castro  clambered  over ;  his  head 
and  torso,  when  he  turned  about,  were  lighted  up  blindingly  be- 
tween the  inner  w'alls  at  every  flash.  Seeing  me  lay  hold  of  Sera- 
phina,  he  yelled : 

"  Sefior,  mind!    It's  death  if  you  stagger  back." 

I  lifted  her  up,  and  put  her  over  like  a  child ;  and,  no  sooner  in 
myself,  felt  my  strength  leave  all  my  limbs  as  water  runs  out  of  an 
overturned  vessel.  I  could  not  have  lifted  up  a  child's  doll  then. 
Directly,  with  a  wild  little  laugh,  she  said  to  me: 

"  Juan — I  shall  never  dare  come  out." 

I  hugged  her  silently  to  my  breast. 

Castro  went  ahead.  It  was  a  narrow  passage;  our  elbows 
touched  the  sides  all  the  w^ay.  He  struck  at  his  flint  regularly, 
sparks  streamed  down  from  his  hand ;  we  felt  a  freshness,  a  sense 
of  space,  as  though  we  had  come  into  another  world.  His  voice 
directed  us  to  turn  to  the  left,  then  cried  in  the  dark,  "  Stand  still." 
A  blue  gleam  darted  after  us,  and  retired  without  having  done 
anything  against  the  tenebrous  body  of  gloom,  and  the  thunder 
rolled  far  in,  unobstructed,  in  leisurely,  organ-like  peals,  as  if 
through  an  amazingly  vast  emptiness  of  a  temple.  But  where  w^as 
Castro  ?  We  heard  snappings,  rustlings,  mutters ;  sparks  streamed, 
now  here,  now  there.  We  dared  not  move.  There  might  have 
been  steep  ridges — deep  holes  in  that  cavern.  And  suddenly  w^e 
discovered  him  on  all-fours,  puffing  out  his  cheeks  above  a  small 
flame  kindled  in  a  heap  of  dry  sticks  and  leaves. 

It  was  an  abode  of  darkness,  enormous,  without  sonority. 
Feeble  currents  of  air,  passing  on  our  faces,  gave  us  a  feeling  of 
being  in  the  open  air  on  a  night  more  black  than  any  known  night 
had  been  before.  One's  voice  lost  itself  in  there  without  reso- 
nance, as  if  on  a  plain ;  the  smoke  of  our  blaze  drove  aslant,  scin- 
tillating with  red  sparks,  and  went  trailing  afar,  as  if  under  the 
clouds  of  a  starless  sky.  Ultimately,  it  must  have  escaped  through 
some  imperceptible  crevices  in  the  roof  of  rock.  In  one  place,  only, 
the  light  of  the  fire  illuminated  a  small  part  of  the  rugged  wall, 
where  the  shadows  of  our  bodies  would  surge  up,  repeating  our 
movements,  and  suddenly  be   gone   from  our  side.      Every^vhere 


PART  FOURTH  287 

else,  pressing  upon  the  reflection  of  the  flames,  the  blind  darkness 
of  the  vault  might  have  extended  away  for  miles  and  miles. 

Castro  thought  it  probable.  He  made  me  observe  the  incline 
of  the  floor.  It  sloped  down  deep  and  far.  For  miles,  no  doubt. 
Nobody  could  tell ;  no  one  had  seen  the  end  of  it.  This  cavern 
had  been  known  of  old.  This  brushwood,  these  dead  leaves,  that 
would  make  a  couch  for  her  Excellency,  had  been  stored  for  years 
— perhaps  by  men  who  had  died  long  ago.  Look  at  the  dry  rot. 
These  large  piles  of  branches  were  found  stacked  up  when  he 
first  beheld  this  place.  Caramba!  What  toil!  What  fatigue! 
Let  us  thank  the  saints,  however. 

Nevertheless,  he  shook  his  head  at  the  strangeness  of  it.  His 
cloak,  spread  out  wide,  was  drying  in  the  light,  while  he  busied 
himself  with  his  hat,  turning  it  before  the  blaze  in  both  hands, 
tenderly ;  and  his  tight  little  figure,  lit  up  in  front  from  head  to 
foot,  steamed  from  every  limb.  His  round,  plump  shoulders  and 
gray  shock  head  smoked  quietly  at  the  top.  Suddenly,  the  fine 
mesh  of  wrinkles  on  his  face  ran  together,  shrinking  like  a  torn 
cobweb ;  a  spasmodic  sound,  quite  new  to  me,  was  heard.  He  had 
laughed. 

The  warmth  of  the  fire  had  penetrated  our  chilled  bodies  with 
a  feeling  of  comfort  and  repose.  Williams'  flask  was  empty;  and 
this  was  a  new  Castro,  mellowed,  discoursive,  almost  genial.  It 
was  obvious  to  me  that,  had  it  not  been  for  him,  we  two,  lost  and 
wandering  in  the  storm,  should  have  died  from  exposure  and  ex- 
haustion— from  some  accident,  perhaps.  On  the  other  hand  I  had 
indubitably  saved  his  life,  and  he  had  already  thanked  me  in  high- 
flown  language;  very  grave,  but  exaggerating  the  horrors  of  his 
danger,  as  a  w^oman  might  have  done  for  the  better  expression  of 
gratitude.  He  had  been  greatly  shocked.  Spaniards,  as  a  race, 
have  never,  for  all  their  conquests,  been  on  intimate  terms  with 
the  sea.  As  individuals  I  have  often  observed  in  them,  especially 
in  the  lower  classes,  a  sort  of  dread,  a  dislike  of  salt  water,  mingled 
with  contempt  and  fear. 

Castro,  lifting  up  his  right  arm,  protested  that  I  had  given  a 
proof  of  very  noble  devotion  in  rushing  back  for  an  old  man  into 
that  black  water.  Ough!  He  shuddered.  He  had  given  himself 
up — por  Dios!    He  hinted  that,  at  his  age,  he  could  not  have  cared 


288  ROMANCE 

much  for  life;  but  then,  drowning  in  the  sea  was  a  death  abhorrent 
to  an  old  Christian.  You  died  brutally — without  absolution,  and 
unable,  even,  to  think  of  your  sins.  He  had  had  his  mouth  filled 
with  horrid,  bitter  sand,  too.  Tfui !  He  gave  me  a  thousand 
thanks.  But  these  English  were  wonderful  in  their  way.  .  .  . 
Ah !  Cara?nba!    They  were  .   .   . 

A  large  protuberance  of  the  rocky  floor  had  been  roughly  chipped, 
into  the  semblance  of  a  seat,  God  only  knows  by  what  hands  and 
in  what  forgotten  age.  Seraphina's  inclined  pose,  her  torn  dress, 
the  wet  tresses  lying  over  her  shoulders,  her  homeless  aspect,  made 
me  think  of  a  beautiful  and  miserable  gypsy  girl  drying  her  hair 
before  a  fire.  A  little  foot,  advanced,  gleamed  white  on  the  instep 
in  front  of  the  ruddy  glare;  her  clasped  fingers  nursed  one  raised 
knee;  and,  shivering  no  longer,  her  head  drooping  in  still  profile, 
she  listened  to  us,  frowning  thoughtfully  upon  the  flames. 

In  the  guise  of  a  beggar-maid,  and  fair,  like  a  fugitive  princess 
of  romance,  she  sat  concealed  in  the  very  heart  of  her  dominions. 
This  cavern  belonged  to  her,  as  Castro  remarked,  and  the  bay  of 
the  sea,  and  the  earth  above  our  heads,  the  rolling  upland,  herds 
of  cattle,  fields  of  sugar-cane — even  as  far  as  the  forest  away  there ; 
the  forest  itself,  too.  And  there  were  on  that  estate,  alone,  over 
two  hundred  Africans,  he  was  able  to  tell  us.  He  boasted  of  the 
wealth  of  the  Riegos.  Her  Excellency,  probably,  did  not  know 
such  details.  Two  hundred — certainly.  The  estate  of  Don  Vin- 
cente  Salazar  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  river.  Don  Vincente 
was  at  present  suffering  the  indignity  of  a  prison  for  a  small  matter 
of  a  quarrel  with  another  caballero — who  had  died  lately — and 
all,  he  understood,  through  the  intrigues  of  the  prior  of  a  certain 
convent;  the  uncle,  they  said,  of  the  dead  caballero.  Bah!  There 
was  something  to  get.  These  fat  friars  were  like  the  lean  wolves 
of  Russia — hungry  for  everything  they  could  see.  Never  enough, 
Cuerpo  de  Dios!  Never  enough!  Like  their  good  friend  who 
helped  them  in  their  iniquities,  the  Juez  O'Brien,  who  had  been 
getting  rich  for  years  on  the  sublime  generosity  of  her  Excellency's 
blessed  father.  In  the  greatness  of  his  nobility,  Don  Balthasar 
of  holy  memory  had  every  right  to  be  obstinate.  .  .  .  Basta!  He 
would  speak  no  more;  only  there  is  a  saying  in  Castile  that  fools 
and  obstinate  people  make  lawyers  rich.   .   .   . 


PART  FOURTH  289 

"  Vuestra  Senoria,"  he  cried,  checking  himself,  slapping  his 
breast  penitently,  "  deign  to  forgive  me.  I  have  been  greatly 
exalted  by  the  familiarity  of  the  two  last  men  of  your  house — 
allowed  to  speak  freely  because  of  my  fidelity.  .  .  .  Alas! 
Alas!" 

Seraphina,  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  made  a  vague  gesture, 
and  took  her  chin  in  her  hand  without  looking  at  him. 

"  Patience,"  he  mumbled  to  himself  very  audibly.  "  He  is  rich, 
this  picaro,  O'Brien.  But  there  is,  also,  a  proverb — that  no  riches 
shall  avail  in  the  day  of  vengeance." 

Noticing  that  we  had  begun  to  whisper  together,  he  threw 
himself  before  the  fire,  and  was  silent. 

"  Promise  me  one  thing,  Juan,"  murmured  Seraphina. 

I  was  kneeling  by  the  side  of  her  seat. 

*'  By  all  that's  holy,"  I  cried,  "  I  shall  force  him  to  come  out 
and  fight  fair — and  kill  him  as  an  English  gentleman  may." 

"Not  that!  Not  that!"  she  interrupted  me.  She  did  not 
mean  me  to  do  that.  It  was  what  she  feared.  It  would  be  de- 
livering myself  into  that  man's  hands.  Did  I  think  what  that 
meant?  It  would  be  delivering  her,  too,  into  that  man's  power. 
She  would  not  survive  it.  And  if  I  desired  her  to  live  on,  I  must 
keep  out  of  O'Brien's  clutches. 

"  In  my  thoughts  I  have  bound  my  life  to  yours,  Juan,  so  fast 
that  the  stroke  which  cuts  yours,  cuts  mine,  too.  No  death  can 
separate  us." 

"  No,"  I  said. 

And  she  took  my  head  in  her  hands,  and  looked  into  my  eyes. 

"  No  more  mourning,"  she  whispered  rapidly.  "  No  more. 
I  am  too  young  to  have  a  lover's  grave  in  my  life — and  too  proud 
to  submit.   ..." 

"  Never,"  I  protested  ardently.     "  That  couldn't  be." 

"  Therefore  look  to  it,  Juan,  that  you  do  not  sacrifice  your  life 
which  is  mine,  either  to  your  love — or — or — to  revenge."  She 
bowed  her  head ;  the  falling  hair  concealed  her  face.  "  For  it 
would  be  in  vain." 

"  The  cloak  is  perfectly  dry  now,  senorita,"  said  Castro,  re- 
clining on  his  elbow  on  the  edge  of  the  darkness. 

We  two  stepped  out  towards  the  entrance,  leaving  her  on  her 


290  ROMANCE 

knees,  in  silent  prayer,  with  her  hands  clasped  on  her  forehead, 
and  leaning  against  the  rugged  wall  of  rock.  Outside,  the  earth, 
enveloped  in  fire  and  uproar,  seemed  to  have  been  given  over  to 
the  fury  of  a  devil. 

Yes.  She  was  right.  O'Brien  was  a  formidable  and  deadly 
enemy.  I  wished  ourselves  on  board  the  Lion  chaperoned  by  Mrs. 
Williams,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  Atlantic.  Nothing  could  make 
us  really  safe  from  his  hatred  but  the  vastness  of  the  ocean.  Mean- 
time we  had  a  shelter,  for  that  night,  at  least,  in  this  cavern  that 
seemed  big  enough  to  contain,  in  its  black  gloom  of  a  burial  vault, 
all  the  dust  and  passions  and  hates  of  a  nation.   .   .   . 

Afterwards  Castro  and  I  sat  murmuring  by  the  diminished  fire. 
He  had  much  to  say  about  the  history  of  this  cave.  There  was  a 
tradition  that  the  ancient  buccaneers  had  held  their  revels  in  it. 
The  stone  on  which  the  senorita  had  been  sitting  was  supposed  to 
have  been  the  throne  of  their  chief.  A  ferocious  band  they  were, 
without  the  fear  of  God  or  devil — mostly  English.  The  Rio 
Medio  picaroons  had  used  this  cavern,  occasionally,  up  to  a  year  or 
so  ago.  But  there  were  always  ugly  affairs  with  the  people  on  the 
estate — the  vaqueros.  In  his  younger  days  Don  Balthasar,  having 
whole  leagues  of  grass  land  here,  had  introduced  a  herd  of  cattle ; 
then,  as  the  Africans  are  useless  for  that  work,  he  had  ordered  some 
peons  from  Mexico  to  be  brought  over  with  their  families — igno- 
rant men,  who  hardly  knew  how  to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross.  The 
quarrels  had  been  about  the  cattle,  which  the  Lugarenos  killed  for 
meat.  The  peons  rode  over  them,  and  there  were  many  wounds 
on  both  sides.  Then,  the  last  time  a  Rio  Medio  schooner  was 
lying  here  (after  looting  a  ship  outside),  there  was  some  gam- 
bling going  on  (they  played  round  this  very  stone),  and  Manuel 
—  {Si,  senor,  this  same  Manuel  the  singer — Bestial) — in  a  dispute 
over  the  stakes,  killed  a  peon,  striking  him  unexpectedly  with  a 
knife  in  the  throat.  No  vengeance  was  taken  for  this,  because  the 
Lugarenos  sailed  away  at  once;  but  the  widow  made  a  great  noise, 
and  some  rumors  came  to  the  ears  of  Don  Balthasar  himself — for 
he,  Castro,  had  been  honored  with  a  mission  to  visit  the  estate. 
That  was  even  the  first  occasion  of  Manuel's  hate  for  him — Castro. 
And,  as  usual,  the  Intendente  after  all  settled  the  matter  as  he 
liked,  and  nothing  was  done  to  Manuel.    Don  Balthasar  was  old, 


PART  FOURTH  291 

and,  besides,  too  great  a  noble  to  be  troubled  with  the  doings  of 
such  vermin.   .   .   .    And  Castro  began  to  yawn. 

At  daybreak — he  explained — he  would  start  for  the  hacienda 
early,  and  return  with  mules  for  Seraphina  and  myself.  The 
buildings  of  the  estate  were  nearly  three  leagues  away.  All  this 
tract  of  the  country  on  the  side  of  the  sea  was  very  deserted,  the 
sugar-cane  fields  worked  by  the  slaves  lying  inland,  beyond  the 
habitations.  Here,  near  the  coast,  there  were  only  the  herds  of 
cattle  ranging  the  savannas  and  the  peons  looking  after  them,  but 
even  they  sometimes  did  not  come  in  sight  of  the  sea  for  weeks 
together.  He  had  no  fear  of  being  seen  by  anybody  on  his  journey; 
we,  also,  could  start  without  fear  in  daylight,  as  soon  as  he  brought 
the  mules.  For  the  rest,  he  would  make  proper  arrangements  for 
secrecy  with  the  husband  of  Seraphina's  nurse — Enrico,  he  called 
him :  a  silent  Galician ;  a  graybeard  worthy  of  confidence. 

One  of  his  first  cares  had  been  to  grub  out  of  his  soaked  clothes 
a  handful  of  tobacco,  and  now  he  turned  over  the  little  drying 
heap  critically.  He  hunted  up  a  fragment  of  maize  leaf  some- 
where upon  his  bosom.  His  face  brightened.  "  Bueno,^'  he 
muttered,  very  pleased. 

"  Senor — good-night,"  he  said,  more  humanized  than  I  had  sup- 
posed possible ;  or  was  it  only  that  I  was  getting  to  know  him 
better?  "And  thanks.  There's  that  in  life  which  even  an  old 
tired  man.  .  .  .  Here  I,  Castro  .  .  .  old  and  sad,  seiior.  Yes, 
senor — nothing  of  mine  in  all  the  world — and  yet.  .  .  .  But 
what  a  death!  Ouch!  the  brute  water  .  .  .  Caramba!  Alto- 
gether improper  for  a  man  who  has  escaped  from  a  great  many 
battles  and  the  winter  of  Russia.   .   .  .    The  snow,  seiior.  .  .  ." 

He  drowsed,  garrulous,  with  the  blackened  end  of  his  cigarette 
hanging  from  his  lower  lip,  swayed  sideways — and  let  himself  go 
over  gently,  pillowing  his  head  on  the  stump  of  his  arm.  The 
thin,  viperish  blade,  stuck  upwards  from  under  his  temple,  gleamed 
red  before  the  sinking  fire. 

I  raised  a  handful  of  flaring  twigs  to  look  at  Seraphina.  A 
terrible  night  raged  over  the  land ;  the  inner  arch  of  the  opening 
growled,  winking  bluishly  time  after  time,  and,  like  an  enchanted 
princess  enveloped  in  a  beggar's  cloak,  she  was  lying  profoundly 
asleep  in  the  heart  of  her  dominions. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


T 


^HE  first  thing  I  noted,  on  opening  my  eyes,  was  that 
Castro  had  gone  already;  I  was  annoyed.  He  might 
have  called  me.  However,  we  had  arranged  everything 
the  evening  before.  The  broad  day,  penetrating  through  the  pas- 
sage, diffused  a  semicircle  of  twilight  over  the  flooring.  It 
extended  as  far  as  the  emplacement  of  the  fire,  black  and  cold 
now  with  a  gray  heap  of  ashes  in  the  middle.  Farther  away  in  the 
darkness,  beyond  the  reach  of  light,  Seraphina  on  her  bed  of 
leaves  did  not  stir.  But  what  was  that  hat  doing  there  ?  Castro's 
hat.  It  asserted  its  existence  more  than  it  ever  did  on  the  head  of 
its  master;  black  and  rusty,  like  a  battered  cone  of  iron,  reposing 
on  a  wide  flange  near  the  ashes.  Then  he  was  not  gone.  He 
would  not  start  to  walk  three  leagues,  bare-headed.  He  would 
appear  presently;  and  I  waited,  vexed  at  the  loss  of  time.  But  he 
did  not  appear.  "  Castro,"  I  cried  in  an  undertone.  The  leaves 
rustled  ;  Seraphina  sat  up. 

We  were  pleased  to  be  with  each  other  in  an  inexpugnable  re- 
treat, to  hear  our  voices  untinged  by  anxiety;  and,  going  to  the 
outer  end  of  the  short  passage,  we  breathed  with  joy  the  pure  air. 
The  tops  of  the  bushes  below  glittered  with  drops  of  rain,  the  sky 
was  clear,  and  the  sun,  to  us  invisible,  struck  full  upon  the  face 
of  the  rock  on  the  other  side  of  the  ravine.  A  great  bird  soared, 
all  was  light  and  silence,  and  we  forgot  Castro  for  a  time.  I 
threw  my  legs  over  the  sill,  and  sitting  on  the  stone  surveyed  the 
cornice.  The  bright  day  robbed  the  ravine  of  half  its  horrors. 
The  path  was  rather  broad,  if  there  was  a  frightful  sheer  drop  of 
ninety  feet  at  least.  Two  men  could  have  walked  abreast  on  that 
ledge,  and  with  a  hand-rail  one  would  have  thought  nothing  of 
it.  The  most  dangerous  part  yet  was  at  the  entrance,  where  it 
ended  in  a  rounded  projection  not  quite  so  wide  as  the  rest.  I 
bantered  Seraphina  as  to  going  out.  She  said  she  was  ready.  She 
would  shut  her  eyes,  and  take  hold  of  my  hand.    Englishmen,  she 

292 


PART  FOURTH  293 

had  heard,  were  good  at  climbing.  Their  heads  were  steady. 
Then  we  became  silent.  There  were  no  signs  of  Castro.  Where 
could  he  have  gone?  What  could  he  be  doing?  It  was  un- 
imaginable. 

I  grew  nervous  with  anxiety  at  last,  and  begged  Seraphina  to  go 
in.  She  obeyed  without  a  word,  and  I  remained  just  within  the 
entrance,  watching.  I  had  no  means  to  tell  the  time,  but  it  seemed 
to  me  that  an  hour  or  two  passed.  Hadn't  we  better,  I  thought, 
start  at  once  on  foot  for  the  hacienda f  I  did  not  know  the  way, 
but  by  descending  the  ravine  again  to  the  sea,  and  walking  along 
the  bank  of  the  little  river,  I  was  sure  to  reach  it.  The  objection 
to  this  was  that  we  should  miss  Castro.  Hang  Castro!  And  yet 
there  was  something  mysterious  and  threatening  in  his  absence. 
Could  he — could  he  have  stepped  out  for  some  reason  in  the  dark, 
perhaps,  and  tumbled  off  the  cornice?  I  had  seen  no  traces  of  a 
slip — there  would  be  none  on  the  rock;  the  twigs  of  the  growth 
below  the  edge  would  spring  back,  of  course.  But  why  should  he 
fall?  The  footing  was  good — however,  a  sudden  attack  of  ver- 
tigo. ...  I  tried  to  look  at  it  from  every  side.  He  was  not  a 
somnambulist,  as  far  as  I  knew.  And  there  was  nothing  to  eat 
— I  felt  hungry  already — or  drink.  The  want  of  water  would 
drive  us  out  very  soon  to  the  spring  bubbling  out  at  the  head  of 
the  ravine,  a  mile  in  the  open.  Then  why  not  go  at  once,  drink, 
and  return  to  our  lair  as  quickly  as  possible. 

But  I  did  not  like  to  think  of  her  going  up  and  down  the  cor- 
nice. I  remembered  that  we  had  a  Hask,  and  went  in  hastily  to 
look  for  it.  First,  I  looked  near  the  hat;  then,  Seraphina  and  I, 
bent  double  with  our  eyes  on  the  ground,  examined  every  square 
inch  of  twilight;  we  even  wandered  a  long  way  into  the  darkness, 
feeling  about  with  our  hands.  It  was  useless!  I  called  out  to 
her,  and  then  we  desisted,  and  coming  together,  wondered  what 
might  have  become  of  the  thing.  He  had  taken  it — that  was 
clear. 

But  if,  as  one  might  suppose,  he  had  taken  it  away  to  get  some 
water  for  us,  he  ought  to  have  been  back  long  before.  I  was  be- 
ginning to  feel  rather  alarmed,  and  I  tried  to  consider  what  we 
had  better  do.  It  was  necessary  to  learn,  first,  what  had  become 
of  him.     Staring  out  of  the  opening,  in  my  perplexity,  I  saw,  on 


294  ROMANCE 

the  other  side  of  the  ravine,  the  lower  part  of  a  man  from  his 
waist  to  his  feet. 

By  crouching  down  at  once,  I  brought  his  head  into  view.  This 
was  not  Castro.  He  wore  a  black  sombrero,  and  on  his  shoulder 
carried  a  gun.  He  turned  his  back  on  the  ravine,  and  began  to 
walk  straight  away,  sinking  from  my  sight  till  only  his  hat  and 
shoulders  remained  visible.  He  lifted  his  arm  then — straight  up 
— evidently  as  a  signal,  and  waited.  Presently  another  head  and 
shoulders  joined  him,  and  they  glided  across  my  line  of  sight  to- 
gether. But  I  had  recognized  their  bandit-like  aspect  with  infinite 
consternation.    Lugarenos! 

I  caught  Seraphina's  hand.  My  first  thought  was  that  we 
should  have  to  steal  out  of  the  cavern  with  the  first  coming  of 
darkness.  Castro  must  be  lying  low  in  hiding  somewhere  above. 
The  thing  was  plain.  We  must  try  to  make  our  way  to  the 
hacienda  under  the  cover  of  the  night,  unseen  by  those  two  men. 
Evidently  they  were  emissaries  sent  from  Rio  Medio  to  watch 
this  part  of  the  coast  against  our  possible  landing.  I  was  to  be 
hunted  down,  it  seems:  and  I  reproached  myself  bitterly  with  the 
hardships  I  was  bringing  upon  her  continually.  Thinking  of  the 
fatigues  she  had  undergone — (I  did  not  think  of  dangers — that 
was  another  thing — the  romance  of  dying  together  like  all  the 
lovers  in  the  tradition  of  the  world) — I  shook  with  rage  and 
exasperation.  The  firm  pressure  of  her  hands  calmed  me.  She 
was  content.  But  what  if.  they  took  it  into  their  heads  to  come 
into  the  cavern? 

The  emptiness  of  the  blue  sky  above  the  sheer  yellow  rock  oppo- 
site was  frightful.  It  was  a  mere  strip,  stretched  like  a  luminous 
bandage  over  our  eyes.  They  were,  perhaps,  even  now^  on  their 
way  round  the  head  of  the  ravine.  I  had  no  weapon  except  the 
butt  of  my  pistol.  The  charges  had  been  spoilt  by  the  salt  water, 
of  course,  and  I  had  been  tempted  to  fling  it  out  of  my  belt,  but 
for  the  thought  of  obtaining  some  powder  somewhere.  And  those 
men  I  had  seen  were  armed.  At  once  we  abandoned  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  entrance,  plunging  straight  away  into  the  profound 
obscurity  of  the  cave.  The  rocky  ground  under  our  feet  had  a 
gentle  slope,  then  dipped  so  sharply  as  to  surprise  us;  and  the 
entrance,  diminishing  at  our  backs,  shone  at  last  no  larger  than  the 


PART  FOURTH  295 

entrance  of  a  mouse-hole.  We  made  a  few  steps  more,  gropingly. 
The  bead  of  light  disappeared  altogether  when  we  sat  down,  and 
we  remained  there  hand-in-hand  and  silent,  like  two  frightened 
children  placed  at  the  center  of  the  earth.  There  was  not  a  sound, 
not  a  gleam.  Seraphina  bore  the  crushing  strain  of  this  perfect 
and  black  stillness  in  an  almost  heroic  immobility;  but,  as  to  me, 
it  seemed  to  lie  upon  my  limbs,  to  embarrass  my  breathing  like  a 
numbness  full  of  dread;  and  to  shake  that  feeling  off  I  jumped  up 
repeatedly  to  look  at  that  luminous  bead,  that  point  of  light 
no  bigger  than  a  pearl  in  the  infinity  of  darkness.  And  once,  just 
as  I  was  looking,  it  shut  and  opened  at  me  slowly,  like  the  deliber- 
ate drooping  and  rising  of  the  lid  upon  a  white  eyeball. 

Somebody  had  come  in. 

We  watched  side  by  side.  Only  one.  Would  he  go  out?  The 
point  of  light,  like  a  white  star  setting  in  a  coal-black  firmament, 
remained  uneciipsed.  Whoever  had  entered  was  in  no  haste  to 
leave.  Moreover,  we  had  no  means  of  telling  what  another  ob- 
scuring of  the  light  might  mean;  a  departure  or  another  arrival. 
There  were  two  men  about,  as  we  knew ;  and  it  was  even  possible 
that  they  had  entered  together  in  one  wink  of  the  light,  treading 
close  upon  each  other's  heels.  We  both  felt  the  sudden  great  desire 
to  know  for  certain.  But,  especially,  we  needed  to  find  out  if 
perchance  this  was  not  Castro  who  had  returned.  We  could  not 
afford  to  lose  his  assistance.  And  should  he  conclude  w^e  were  out 
— should  he  risk  himself  outside  again,  in  order  to  find  us  and  be 
discovered  himself,  and  thus  lost  to  us  when  we  felt  him  so  neces- 
sary? And  the  doubt  came.  If  this  man  was  Castro,  why 
didn't  he  penetrate  further,  and  shout  our  names?  He  ought  to 
have  been  intelligent  enough  to  guess.  .  .  .  And  it  was  this 
doubt  that,  making  suspense  intolerable,  put  us  in  motion. 

We  circled  widely  in  that  subterranean  darkness,  which,  unlike 
the  darkest  night  on  the  surface  of  the  earth,  had  no  suggestion 
of  shape,  no  horizon,  and  seemed  to  have  no  more  limit  than  the 
darkness  of  infinite  space.  On  this  floor  of  solid  rock  we  moved 
with  noiseless  steps,  like  a  pair  of  timid  phantoms.  The  spot  of 
light  grew  in  size,  developed  a  shape — stretching  from  a  pearly 
bead  to  a  silvery  thread;  and,  approaching  from  the  side,  we 
scanned  from  afar  the  circumscribed  region  of  twilight  about  the 


296  ROMANCE 

opening.  There  was  a  man  in  it.  We  contemplated  for  a  time 
his  rounded  back,  his  drooping  head.  It  was  gray.  The  man  was 
Castro.  He  sat  rocking  himself  sorrowfully  over  the  ashes.  He 
was  mourning  for  us.  We  were  touched  by  this  silent  faithfulness 
of  grief. 

He  started  when  I  put  my  hand  on  his  shoulder,  looked 
up,  then,  instead  of  giving  any  signs  of  joy,  dropped  his  head 
again. 

"  You  managed  to  avoid  them,  Castro?  "  I  said. 

"  Senor,  behold.     Here  I  am.     I,  Castro." 

His  tone  was  gloomy,  and  after  sitting  still  for  a  while  under 
our  gaze,  he  slapped  his  forehead  violently.  He  was  in  his  tan- 
trums, I  judged,  and,  as  usual,  angry  with  me — the  cause  of  every 
misfortune.  He  was  upset  and  annoyed  beyond  reason,  as  I 
thought,  by  this  new  difficulty.  It  meant  delay — a  certain  mea- 
sure of  that  sort  of  danger  of  which  we  had  thought  ourselves  free 
for  a  time — night  traveling  for  Seraphina.  But  I  had  an  idea  to 
save  her  this.  We  did  not  all  want  to  go.  Castro  could  start, 
alone,  for  the  hacienda  after  dark,  and  bring,  besides  the  mules, 
half  a  dozen  peons  with  him  for  an  escort.  There  was  nothing 
really  to  get  so  upset  about.  The  danger  would  have  been  if  he 
had  let  himself  be  caught.  But  he  had  not.  As  to  his  temper,  I 
knew  my  man;  he  had  been  amiable  too  long.  But  by  this  time 
we  were  so  sure  of  his  truculent  devotion  that  Seraphina  spoke 
gently  to  him,  saying  hovy  anxious  we  had  been— how  glad  we 
were  to  see  him  safe  with  us.   .  .  . 

He  would  not  be  conciliated  easily,  it  seemed,  and  let  out  only 
a  blood-curdling  dismal  groan.  Without  looking  at  her,  he  tried 
hastily  to  make  a  cigarette.  He  was  very  clever  at  it  generally, 
rolling  it  with  one  hand  on  his  knee  somehow;  but  this  time  all 
his  limbs  seemed  to  shake,  he  lost  several  pinches  of  tobacco, 
dropped  the  piece  of  maize  leaf.  Seraphina,  stooping  over  his 
shoulder,  took  it  up,  twisted  the  thing  swiftly. 

"  Take,  amigo,^'  she  said. 

He  was  looking  up  at  her,  as  if  struck  dumb,  rolling  his  eye 
wildly.    He  jumped  up. 

"You — senorita!  For  a  miserable  old  man!  You  break  my 
heart." 


PART  FOURTH  297 

And  with  long  strides  he  disappeared  in  the  darkness,  leaving 
us  wondering. 

We  sat  side  by  side  on  the  couch  of  leaves.  With  Castro  there 
I  felt  we  were  quite  equal  to  dealing  with  the  two  Lugarenos  if 
they  had  the  unlucky  idea  of  intruding  upon  us.  Indeed,  a  vigi- 
lant man,  posted  on  one  side  at  the  end  of  the  passage,  could  have 
disputed  the  entrance  against  ten,  twenty,  almost  any  number, 
as  long  as  he  kept  his  strength  and  had  something  heavy  enough  to 
knock  them  over.  Faint  sounds  reached  me,  as  if  at  a  great  dis- 
tance Castro  had  been  shouting  to  himself.  I  called  to  him.  He 
did  not  answer,  but  unexpectedly  his  short  person  showed  itself 
in  the  brightest  part  of  the  light. 

"  Senor!  "  he  called  out  with  a  strange  intonation. 

I  got  up  and  went  to  him.  He  seemed  to  be  listening  intently 
with  his  ear  turned  to  the  opening.     Then  suddenly: 

"  Look  at  me,  senor.  Am  I  Castro — the  same  Castro?  old  and 
friendless?  " 

He  stood  biting  his  forefinger  and  looking  up  at  me  from  under 
his  knitted  eyebrows.  I  didn't  know  what  to  say.  What  was  this 
nonsense  ? 

He  ejaculated  a  sort  of  incomprehensible  babble,  and,  passing 
by  me,  rushed  towards  Seraphina;  she  sat  up,  startled,  on  her 
couch  of  leaves.  Falling  before  her  on  his  plump  knees,  he  seized 
her  hand,  pressed  it  against  his  ragged  mustache. 

"  Excellency,  forgive  me!  No — no  forgiveness!  Ha!  old  man! 
Ha — thou  old  man.   .   .   ." 

He  bowed  before  her  shadowy  figure,  that  sustained  the  pale 
oval  of  the  face,  till  his  forehead  struck  the  rock.  Plunging  his 
hand  into  the  ashes,  he  poured  a  fistful  with  inarticulate  low  cries 
over  his  gray  hairs ;  and  the  agitation  of  that  obese  little  body 
on  its  knees  had  a  lamentable  and  grotesque  inconsequence,  as 
inexplicable  in  itself  as  the  sorrow  of  a  madman.  Full  of  wonder 
before  his  abject  collapse,  she  murmured: 

"  What  have  you  done?  " 

He  tried  to  fling  himself  upon  her  feet,  but  my  hand  was  in 
his  collar,  and  after  an  unmerciful  shaking,  I  sat  him  down  by 
main  force.  He  gulped,  blinked  the  whites  of  his  eyes,  then,  in 
a  whisper  full  of  rage: 


298  ROMANCE 

"Horror,  shame,  misery,  and  malediction;  I  have  betrayed 
you. 

At  once  she  said  soothingly,  "  Tomas,  I  do  not  believe  this"; 
while  I  thought  to  myself:  How?  Why?  For  what  reason? 
In  what  manner  betrayed?  How  was  it  possible?  And,  if  so, 
why  did  he  come  back  to  us?  But,  as  things  stood,  he  would 
never  dare  approach  a  Lugareho.  If  he  had,  they  would  never 
have  let  him  go  again. 

"  You  told  them  we  were  here?  "  I  asked,  so  perfectly  incredu- 
lous that  I  was  not  at  all  surprised  to  hear  him  protest,  by  all  the 
saints,  that  he  never  did — never  would  do.  Never.  Never.  .  .  . 
But  why  should  he  ?  Was  he  the  prey  of  some  strange  hallucina- 
tion? Rocking  himself,  he  struck  his  breast  with  his  clenched 
hand,  then  suddenly  caught  at  his  hair  and  remained  perfectly 
motionless.  Minutes  passed;  this  despairing  stillness  inspired  in 
me  a  feeling  of  awe  at  last — the  awe  of  something  inconceivable. 
My  head  buzzed  so  with  the  effort  to  think  that  I  had  the  illusions 
of  faint  murmurs  in  the  cave,  the  very  shadows  of  murmurs.  And 
all  at  once  a  real  voice — his  voice — burst  out  fearfully  rapid  and 
voluble. 

He  had  really  gone  out  to  get  a  provision  of  water.  Waking 
up  early,  he  saw  us  sleeping,  and  felt  a  great  pity  for  the  senorita. 
As  to  the  caballero  —  his  savior  from  drowning,  alas !  —  the 
senorita  would  need  every  ounce  of  his  strength.  He  would  let 
us  sleep  till  his  return  from  the  spring;  and,  there  being  a  blessed 
freshness  in  the  air,  he  caught  up  the  flask  and  started  bare-headed. 
The  sun  had  just  risen.  Would  to  God  he  had  never  seen  it! 
After  plunging  his  face  in  the  running  water,  he  remained  on  his 
knees  and  busied  himself  in  rinsing  and  filling  the  flask.  The 
torrent,  gushing  with  force,  made  a  loud  noise,  and  after  he  had 
done  screwing  the  top  on,  he  was  about  to  rise,  when,  glanc- 
ing about  carelessly,  he  saw  two  men  leaning  on  their  escopetas 
and  looking  at  him  in  perfect  silence.  They  were  standing 
right  over  him;  he  knew  them  well;  one  they  called  El  Rubio; 
the  other,  the  little  one,  was  Jose — squinting  Jose.  They  said 
nothing;  nothing  at  all.  With  a  sudden  and  mighty  effort  he 
preserved  his  self-command,  affected  unconcern  and,  instead  of 
getting  up,  only  shifted  his  pose  to  a  sitting  position,  took  off  his 


PART  FOURTH  299 

shoes  and  stockings,  and  proceeded  to  bathe  his  feet.  But  it  was 
as  if  a  blazing  fire  had  been  kindled  in  his  breast,  and  a  tornado 
had  been  blowing  in  his  head. 

He  could  not  tell  whence  these  two  had  come,  with  what  object, 
or  how  much  they  knew.  Thej^  might  have  been  only  messengers 
from  Rio  Medio  to  Havana.  They  generally  went  in  couples. 
If  Manuel  had  escaped  alive  out  of  the  sea,  everything  was  known 
in  Rio  Medio.  From  where  he  sat  he  beheld  the  empty,  open 
sea  over  the  dunes,  but  the  edge  of  the  upland,  cleft  by  many 
ravines  (of  which  the  one  we  had  ascended  was  the  deepest),  con- 
cealed from  him  the  little  basin  and  the  inlet.  He  was  certain 
these  men  had  not  come  up  that  way.  They  had  approached  him 
over  the  plain.  But  there  was  more  than  one  way  by  which  the 
upland  could  be  reached  from  below.  The  thoughts  rushed  round 
and  round  his  head.  He  remembered  that  our  boat  must  be  float- 
ing or  lying  stranded  in  the  little  bay,  and  resolved,  in  case  of 
necessity,  to  say  that  we  two  were  dead,  that  we  had  been 
drowned. 

It  was  El  Rubio  who  put  the  very  question  to  him,  in  an  insolent 
tone,  and  sitting  on  the  ground  out  of  his  reach,  with  his  gun 
across  his  knees.  His  long  knife  ready  in  his  hand,  squinting  Jose 
remained  standing  over  Castro.  Those  two  men  nodded  to  each 
other  significantly  at  the  intelligence.  He  perceived  that  they 
were  more  than  half  disposed  to  credit  his  story.  They  had  nearly 
been  drowned  themselves  pursuing  that  accursed  heretic  of  an 
Englishman.  When,  from  their  remarks,  he  learned  that  the 
schooner  was  in  the  bay,  he  began  putting  on  his  shoes,  though  the 
hope  of  making  a  sudden  dash  for  his  life  down  the  ravine  aban- 
doned him. 

The  schooner  had  been  run  in  at  night  during  the  gale,  and  in 
such  distress  that  they  let  her  take  the  ground.  She  was  not 
injured,  however,  and  some  of  them  were  preparing  to  haul  her 
off.  Our  boat,  as  I  conceive,  after  bumping  along  the  beach,  had 
drifted  within  the  influence  of  the  current  created  by  the  little 
river,  or  else  by  the  water  forced  into  the  basin  by  the  tempest, 
seeking  to  escape,  and  had  been  carried  out  towards  the  inlet. 
She  was  seen  at  daylight,  knocking  about  amongst  the  breakers, 
bottom  up,  and  in  such  shallow  water  that  three  or  four  men 


300  ROMANCE 

wading  out  knee-deep  managed  to  turn  her  over.  They  had  found 
Mrs.  Williams'  woolen  shawl  and  my  cap  floating  underneath. 
At  the  same  time  the  broken  mast  and  sail  were  made  out,  tossing 
upon  the  waves,  not  very  far  off  to  seaward.  That  the  boat  had 
been  in  the  bay  at  all  did  not  seem  to  have  occurred  to  them.  It 
had  been  concluded  that  she  had  capsized  outside  the  entrance. 
It  was  very  possible  that  we  had  been  drowned  under  her.  Castro 
hastened  to  confirm  the  idea  by  relating  how  he  had  been  clinging 
to  the  bottom  of  the  boat  for  a  long  time.  Thus  he  had  saved 
himself,  he  declared. 

"  Manuel  will  be  glad,"  observed  El  Rubio  then,  with  an  evil 
laugh.    And  for  a  long  time  nobody  said  a  word. 

El  Rubio,  cross-legged,  was  observing  him  with  the  eyes  of  a 
basilisk,  but  Castro  swore  a  great  oath  that,  as  to  himself,  he 
showed  no  signs  of  fear.  He  looked  at  the  water  gushing  from 
the  rock,  bubbling  up,  sparkling,  running  away  in  a  succession  of 
tiny  leaps  and  falls.  Why  should  he  fear?  Was  he  not  old,  and 
tired,  and  without  any  hope  of  peace  on  earth?  What  was  death? 
Nothing.  It  was  absolutely  nothing.  It  comes  to  all.  It  was 
rest  after  much  vain  trouble — and  he  trusted  that,  through  his 
devotion  to  the  Mother  of  God,  his  sins  would  be  forgiven  after 
a  short  time  in  purgatory.  But,  as  he  had  made  up  his  mind  not 
to  fall  into  Manuel's  hands,  he  resolved  that  presently  he  would 
stab  himself  to  the  heart,  where  he  sat — over  this  running  water. 
For  it  would  not  be  like  a-  suicide.  He  was  doomed,  and  surely 
God  did  not  want  his  body  to  be  tormented  by  such  a  devil  as 
Manuel  before  death.  He  would  lean  far  over  before  he  struck 
his  faithful  blade  into  his  breast,  so  as  to  fall  with  his  face  in  the 
water.  It  looked  deliciously  cool,  and  the  sun  was  heavy  on  his 
bare  head.     Suddenly,  El  Rubio  sprang  to  his  feet,  saying: 

"  Now,  Jose." 

It  is  clear  that  these  ruffians  stood  in  awe  of  his  blade.  In 
their  cowardly  hearts  they  did  not  think  it  quite  safe  (being 
only  two  to  one)  to  try  and  disarm  that  old  man.  They  backed 
away  a  step  or  two,  and,  leveling  their  pieces,  suddenly  ordered 
him  to  get  up  and  walk  before.  He  threw  at  them  an  obscene 
word.  He  thought  to  himself,  "  Bueno!  They  will  blow  my 
head  off  my  shoulders."    No  emotion  stirred  in  him,  as  if  his  blood 


PART  FOURTH  301 

had  already  ceased  to  run  in  his  veins.  They  remained,  all  three, 
in  a  state  of  suspended  animation,  but  at  last  El  Rubio  hissed 
through  his  teeth  with  vexation,  and  grunted : 

"  Attention,  Jose,  Take  aim.  We  vuill  break  his  legs  and 
take  away  the  sting  of  this  old  scorpion." 

Castro's  blood  felt  chilly  in  his  limbs,  but,  instead  of  planting 
his  knife  in  his  breast,  he  spoke  up  to  ask  them  where,  supposing 
he  consented,  they  wished  to  conduct  him. 

"  To  Manuel — our  captain.  He  would  like  to  embrace  you 
before  you  die,"  said  El  Rubio,  advancing  a  stride  nearer,  his  gun 
to  his  shoulder.    "  Get  up!     March!  " 

And  Castro  found  himself  on  his  feet,  looking  straight  into  the 
black  holes  of  the  barrels. 

"Walk!"  they  exclaimed  together,  stepping  upon  him. 

The  time  had  come  to  die. 

"Ha!     Canallar' he  said. 

They  made  a  menacing  clamor,  "Walk  viejo^  traitor;  walk." 

"  Senorita — I  walked."  The  heartrending  effort  of  the  voice, 
the  trembling  of  this  gray  head,  the  sobs  under  the  words,  op- 
pressed our  breast  with  dismay  and  dread.  Ardently  he  would 
have  us  believe  that  at  this  juncture  he  was  thinking  of  us  only — 
of  us  wondering,  alone,  ignorant  of  danger,  and  hidden  blindly 
under  the  earth.  His  purpose  was  to  provoke  the  two  Lugarehos 
to  shoot,  so  that  we  should  be  warned  by  the  reports.  Besides,  an 
opportunity  for  escape  might  yet  present  itself  in  some  most  un- 
likely way,  perhaps  at  the  very  last  moment.  Had  he  not  his 
own  life  in  his  own  hands?  He  cared  not  for  it.  It  was  in  his 
power  to  end  it  at  any  time.  And  there  would  be  dense  thickets 
on  the  way;  long  grass  where  one  could  plunge  suddenly — who 
knows!  And  overgrown  ravines  where  one  could  hide — creep 
under  the  bushes — escape — and  return  with  help.  .  .  .  But  when 
he  faced  the  plain  its  greatness  crushed  his  poor  strength.  The 
uncovered  vastness  imprisoned  him  as  effectually  as  a  wall.  He 
knew  himself  for  what  he  was :  an  old  man,  short  of  breath,  heavy 
of  foot;  nevertheless  he  walked  on  hastily,  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 
The  footsteps  of  his  captors  sounded  behind  him,  and  he  tried  to 
edge  towards  the  ravine.  When  nearly  above  the  opening  of  the 
cavern  he  would,  he  thought,  swerve  inland,  and  dash  off  as  fast 


302  ROMANCE 

as  he  was  able.  Then  they  would  have  to  fire  at  him ;  we  would 
be  sure  to  hear  the  shots,  the  warning  would  be  clear  .  .  .  and 
suddenly,  looking  up,  he  saw  that  a  small  band  of  Lugarenos, 
having  just  ascended  the  brow  of  the  upland,  were  coming  to  meet 
him.  Now  was  the  time  to  get  shot ;  he  turned  sharply,  and  began 
to  run  over  that  great  plain  towards  a  distant  clump  of  trees. 

Nobody  fired  at  him.  He  heard  only  the  mingled  jeers 
and  shouts  of  the  two  men  behind,  "  Quicker,  Castro;  quicker!  " 
They  followed  him,  holding  their  sides.  Those  ahead  had  already 
spread  themselves  out  over  the  plain,  yelling  to  each  other,  and 
were  converging  upon  him.  That  was  the  time  to  stop,  and 
with  one  blow  fall  dead  at  their  feet.  He  doubled  round  in  front 
of  Manuel,  who  stood  waving  his  arms  and  screeching  orders,  and 
ran  back  towards  the  ravine.  The  plain  rang  with  furious  shouts. 
They  rushed  at  him  from  every  side.  He  would  throw  himself 
over.    It  was  a  race  for  the  precipice.    He  won  it. 

I  suppose  he  found  it  not  so  easy  to  die,  to  part  with  the  warmth 
of  sunshine,  the  taste  of  food;  to  break  that  material  servitude  to 
life,  contemptible  as  a  vice,  that  binds  us  about  like  a  chain  on 
the  limbs  of  hopeless  slaves.  He  showered  blows  upon  his  chest ; 
sitting  before  us,  he  battered  with  his  fist  at  the  side  of  his  head 
till  I  caught  his  arm.  We  could  always  sell  our  lives  dearly,  I 
said.  He  would  have  to  defend  the  entrance  with  me.  We  two 
could  hold  it  till  it  was  blocked  with  their  corpses. 

He  jumped  up  with  a  derisive  shriek;  a  cloud  of  ashes  flew 
from  under  his  stumble,  and  he  vanished  in  the  darkness  with  mad 
gesticulations. 

"Their  corpses — their  corpses — their   .    .   ,     Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

The  snarling  sound  died  away;  and  I  understood,  then,  what 
meant  this  illusion  of  ghostly  murmurs  that  once  or  twice  had 
seemed  to  tremble  in  the  narrow  region  of  gray  light  around  the 
arch.  The  sunshine  of  the  earth,  and  the  voices  of  men,  expired 
on  the  threshold  of  the  eternal  obscurity  and  stillness  in  which  we 
were  imprisoned,  as  if  in  a  grave  with  inexorable  death  standing 
between  us  and  the  free  spaces  of  the  world. 


F 


CHAPTER   IX 

"^OR  it  meant  that.  Imprisoned!  Castro's  derisive  shriek 
meant  that.  And  I  had  known  it  before.  He  emerged  back 
out  of  the  black  depths,  with  livid,  swollen  features,  and 
foam  about  his  mouth,  to  splutter: 

"Their  corpses,  you  say.  .  .  .  Ha!  Our  corpses,"  and  re- 
treated again,  where  I  could  only  hear  incoherent  mutters. 

Seraphina  clutched  my  arm.  "  Juan — together — no  separa- 
tion." 

I  had  known  it,  even  as  I  spoke  of  selling  our  lives  dearly. 
They  could  only  be  surrendered.  Surrendered  miserably  to  these 
wretches,  or  to  the  everlasting  darkness  in  which  Castro  muttered 
his  despair.  I  needed  not  to  hear  this  ominous  and  sinister  sound 
— ^nor  yet  Seraphina's  cry.  She  understood,  too.  They  would 
never  come  down  unless  to  look  upon  us  when  we  were  dead.  I 
need  not  have  gone  to  the  entrance  of  the  cave  to  understand  all 
the  horror  of  our  fate.  The  Lugarehos  had  already  lighted  a  fire. 
Very  near  the  brink,  too. 

It  was  burning  some  thirty  feet  above  my  head;  and  the  sheer 
wall  on  the  other  side  caught  up  and  sent  across  into  my  face  the 
crackling  of  dry  branches,  the  loud  excited  talking,  the  arguments, 
the  oaths,  the  laughter ;  now  and  then  a  very  shriek  of  jo}^  Manuel 
was  giving  orders.  Some  advanced  the  opinion  that  the  cursed 
Inglez,  the  spy  who  came  from  Jamaica  to  see  whom  he  could  get 
for  a  hanging  without  a  priest,  was  down  there,  too.  So  that 
was  it!  O'Brien  knew  how  to  stir  their  hate.  I  should  get  a 
short  shrift.  "  He  was  a  fiend,  the  Inglez:  look  how  many  of  us 
he  has  killed!  "  they  cried;  and  Manuel  would  have  loved  to  cut 
my  flesh,  in  small  pieces,  of¥  my  bones — only,  alas!  I  was  now 
beyond  his  vengeance,  he  feared.     However,  somebody  was  left. 

He  must  have  thrown  himself  flat,  with  his  head  over  the  brink, 
for  his  yell  of  "  Castro!  "  exploded,  and  rolled  heavily  between  the 
rocks. 

303 


304  ROMANCE 

"Castro!  Castro!  Castro!"  he  shouted  twenty  times,  till  he 
set  the  whole  ravine  in  an  uproar.  He  waited,  and  when  the 
clamor  had  quieted  down  amongst  the  bushes  below,  called  out 
softly,  "  Do  you  hear  me,  Castro,  my  victim?  Thou  art  my 
victim,  Castro." 

Castro  had  crept  into  the  passage  after  me.  He  pushed  his  head 
beyond  my  shoulder. 

"  I  defy  thee,  Manuel,"  he  scream.ed. 

A  hubbub  arose.     "  He's  there!     He  is  there!  " 

"  Bravo,  Castro,"  Manuel  shouted  from  above.  "  I  love  thee 
because  thou  art  my  victim.  I  shall  sing  a  song  for  thee.  Come 
up.  Hey!  Castro!  Castro!  Come  up.  .  .  .  No?  Then  the 
dead  to  their  grave,  and  the  living  to  their  feast." 

Sometimes  a  little  earth,  detached  from  the  layer  of  soil  cover- 
ing the  rock,  would  fall  streaming  from  above.  The  men  told  off 
to  guard  the  cornice  walked  to  and  fro  near  the  edge,  and  the 
confused  murmur  of  voices  hung  subdued  in  the  air  of  the  cleft, 
like  a  modulated  tremor.  Castro,  moaning  gently,  stumbled  back 
into  the  cave. 

Seraphina  had  remained  sitting  on  the  stone  seat.  The  twi- 
light rested  on  her  knees,  on  her  face,  on  the  heap  of  cold  ashes 
at  her  feet.  But  Castro,  who  had  stood  stock-still,  with  a  hand 
to  his  forehead,  turned  to  me  excitedly: 

"  The  peons,  por  DiosI  "  Had  I  ever  thought  of  the  peons 
belonging  to  the  estancia?     ■ 

Well,  that  was  a  hope.  I  did  not  know  exactly  how  matters 
stood  between  them  and  the  Lugarenos.  There  was  no  love  lost. 
A  fight  was  likely ;  but,  even  if  no  actual  collision  took  place,  they 
would  be  sure  to  visit  the  camp  above  in  no  very  friendly  spirit; 
a  chance  might  offer  to  make  our  position  known  to  these  men, 
who  had  no  reason  to  hate  either  me  or  Castro — and  would  not  be 
afraid  of  thwarting  the  miserable  band  of  ghouls  sitting  above 
our  grave.  How  our  presence  could  be  made  known  I  was  not 
sure.  Perhaps  simply  by  shouting  w^ith  all  our  might  from  the 
mouth  of  the  cave.  We  could  offer  rewards — say  who  we  were, 
summon  them  for  the  service  of  their  own  seiiorita.  But,  prob- 
ably, they  had  never  heard  of  her.  No  matter.  The  news  would 
soon  reach  the  hacienda^  and  Enrico  had  two  hundred  slaves  at  his 


PART  FOURTH  305 

back.  One  of  us  must  always  remain  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave 
listening  to  what  went  on  above.  There  would  be  the  trampling 
of  horses'  hoofs — quarreling,  no  doubt — anyway,  much  talk — 
new  voices — something  to  inform  us.  Only,  how  soon  would 
they  come?  They  were  not  likely  to  be  riding  where  there  were 
no  cattle.  Had  Castro  seen  any  signs  of  a  herd  on  the  uplands 
near  by? 

His  face  fell.  He  had  not.  There  were  many  savannas  within 
the  belt  of  forests,  and  the  herds  might  be  miles  away,  stampeded 
inland  by  the  storm.  Sitting  down  suddenly,  as  if  overcome,  he 
averted  his  eyes  and  began  to  scratch  the  rock  between  his  legs 
with  the  point  of  his  blade. 

We  were  all  silent.  How  long  could  we  wait?  How  long 
could  people  live?  ...  I  looked  at  Seraphina.  How  long  could 
she  live?  .  .  .  The  thought  seared  my  heart  like  a  hot  iron. 
I  wrung  my  hands  stealthily. 

"Ha!  my  blade!"  muttered  Castro.  "My  sting.  .  .  .  Old 
scorpion!  They  did  not  take  my  sting  away.  .  .  .  Only — bah!" 
He,  a  man,  had  not  risen  to  the  fortitude  of  a  venomous 
creature.  He  was  defeated.  He  groaned  profoundly.  Life  was 
too  much.  It  clung  to  one.  A  scorpion — an  insect— within  a 
ring  of  flames,  would  lift  its  sting  and  stab  venom  into  its  own 
head.  And  he — Castro — a  man — a  man,  por  Dios — had  less  firm- 
ness than  a  creeping  thing.  Why — why,  did  he  not  stab  this 
dishonored  old  heart? 

"  Senorita,"  he  cried  agonizingly,  "  I  swear  I  did  shout  to  them 
to  fire — so — into  my  breast — and  then.    .    .    ." 
Seraphina  leaned  over  him  pityingly. 

"  Enough,  Castro.  One  lives  because  of  hope.  And  grieve 
not.    Thy  death  would  have  done  no  good." 

Her  face  had  a  splendid  pallor,  the  radiant  whiteness  and 
majesty  of  marble;  it  had  never  before  appeared  to  me  more 
beautiful:  and  her  hair  unrolling  its  dark  undulations,  as  if  tinged 
deep  with  the  funereal  gloom  of  the  background,  covered  her 
magnificently  right  down  to  her  elbows.  Her  eyes  were  incredibly 
profound.  Her  person  had  taken  on  an  indefinable  beauty,  a  new 
beauty,  that,  like  the  comeliness  that  comes  from  joy,  love,  or 
success,  seemed  to  rise  from  the   depths  of  her  being,   as  if  an 


3o6  ROMANCE 

unsuspected  and  somber  quality  of  her  soul  had  responded  to  the 
horror  of  our  situation.  The  fierce  trials  had  gradually  developed 
her,  as  burning  sunshine  opens  the  bud  of  a  flower ;  and  I  beheld 
her  now  in  the  plenitude  of  her  nature.  From  time  to  time  Castro 
would  raise  up  to  her  his  blinking  old  eyes,  full  of  timidity  and 
distress. 

He  had  not  been  young  enough  to  throw  himself  over — he  had 
worn  the  chain  for  too  many  years,  had  lived  well  and  softly  too 
long,  was  too  old  a  slave.  And  yet — if  he  had  had  the  courage  of 
the  act!  Who  knows?  I  rejected  the  thought  far  from  me.  It 
returned,  and  I  caught  myself  looking  at  him  with  irritated  eyes. 
But  this  first  day  passed  not  intolerably.  We  ignored  our  suffer- 
ings. Indeed,  I  felt  none  for  my  part.  We  had  kept  our  thoughts 
bound  to  the  slow  blank  minutes.  And  if  we  exchanged  a  few 
words  now  and  then,  it  was  to  speak  of  patience,  of  resolution  to 
endure    and    to    hope. 

At  night,  from  the  hot  ravine  full  of  shadows,  came  the  cool 
fretting  of  the  stream.  The  big  blaze  they  kept  up  above  crackled 
distinctly,  throwing  a  fiery,  restless  stain  on  the  face  of  the  rock 
in  front  of  the  cave,  high  up  under  the  darkness  and  the  stars  of 
the  sky — and  a  pair  of  feet  would  appear  stamping,  the  shadow 
of  a  pair  of  ankles  and  feet,  fantastic,  sustaining  no  gigantic  body, 
but  enormous,  tramping  slowly,  resembling  two  coffins  leaping  to 
a  slow  measure.  I  see  them  in  my  dreams  now,  sometimes.  They 
disappeared. 

Manuel  would  sing;  far  in  the  night  the  monotonous  staccato 
of  the  guitar  went  on,  accompanying  plaintive  murmurs,  outbursts 
of  anger  and  cries  of  pain,  the  tremulous  moans  of  sorrow.  My 
nerves  vibrated,  I  broke  my  nails  on  the  rock,  and  seemed  to  hear 
once  more  the  parody  of  all  the  transports  and  of  every  anguish, 
even  to  death — a  tragic  and  ignoble  rendering  of  life.  He  was  a 
true  artist,  powerful  and  scorned,  admired  with  derision,  obeyed 
with  jeers.  It  was  a  song  of  mourning;  he  sat  on  the  brink  with 
his  feet  dangling  over  the  precipice  that  sent  him  back  his  inspired 
tones  with  a  confused  noise  of  sobs  and  desolation.  .  .  .  His 
idol  had  been  snatched  from  the  humility  of  his  adoring  silence, 
like  a  falling  star  from  the  sight  of  the  worm  that  crawls.  .  .  . 
He  stormed  on  the  strings;  and  his  voice  emerged  like  the  crying 


PART  FOURTH  307 

of  a  castaway  in  the  tumult  of  the  gale.  He  apostrophized  his 
instrument.  .  .  .  Woe!  Woe!  No  more  songs.  He  would 
break  it.  Its  work  was  done.  He  would  dash  it  against  the 
rock.  .  .  .  His  palm  slapped  the  hollow  wood  furiously.  .  .  . 
So  that  it   should  lie  shattered  and  mute  like  his  own  heart! 

A  frenzied  explosion  of  yells,  jests,  and  applause  covered  the 
finale. 

A  complete  silence  would  follow,  as  if  in  the  acclamations  they 
had  exhausted  at  once  every  bestial  sound.  Somebody  would 
cough  pitifully  for  a  long  time — and  when  he  had  done  splutter- 
ing and  cursing,  the  world  outside  appeared  lost  in  an  even  more 
profound  stillness.  The  red  stain  of  the  fire  wavered  across  to 
play  under  the  dark  brow  of  the  rock.  The  irritated  murmur 
of  the  torrent,  tearing  along  below,  returned  timidly  at  first, 
expanded,  filled  the  ravine,  ran  through  my  ears  in  an  angry 
babble.  The  deadened  footfalls  on  the  brink  sometimes  dislodged 
a  pebble :  it  would  start  with  a  feeble  rattle  and  be  heard  no  more. 

In  the  daytime,  too,  there  were  silences  up  there,  perfect,  pro- 
found. No  prowl  of  feet  disturbed  them ;  the  sun  blazed  between 
the  rocks,  and  even  the  hum  of  insects  could  be  heard.  It  seemed 
impossible  not  to  believe  that  they  had  all  died  by  a  miracle,  or 
else  had  been  driven  away  by  a  silent  panic.  But  two  or  more 
were  always  on  the  watch,  directly  above,  with  their  heads  over 
the  edge;  and  suddenly  they  would  begin  to  talk  together  in 
drowsy  tones.  It  was  as  if  some  barbarous  somnambulists  had 
mumbled  in  the  daytime  the  bizarre  atrocity  of  their  thoughts. 

They  discussed  Williams'  flask,  which  had  been  picked  up. 
Was  the  cup  made  of  silver,  they  wondered.  Manuel  had  appro- 
priated it  for  his  own  use,  it  seems.  Well — he  was  the  capataz. 
The  Inglez,  should  he  appear  by  an  impossible  chance,  was  to  be 
shot  down  at  once ;  but  Castro  must  be  allowed  to  give  himself  up. 
And  they  would  snigger  ferociously.  Sometimes  quarrels  arose, 
very  noisy,  a  great  hubbub  of  bickerings  touching  their  jealousies, 
their  fears,  their  unspeakable  hopes  of  murder  and  rapine.  They 
did  not  feel  very  safe  where  they  were.  Some  would  maintain  that 
Castro  could  not  have  saved  himself,  alone.  The  Inglez  was 
there,  and  even  the  senorita  herself.  .  .  .  Manuel  scouted  the 
idea  with  contempt.     He  advanced  the  violence  of  the  storm,  the 


3o8  ROMANCE 

fury  of  the  waves,  the  broken  mast,  the  position  of  the  boat. 
How  could  they  expect  a  woman!  ,  .  .  No.  It  was  as  his  song 
had  it.  And  he  defended  his  point  of  view  angrily,  as  though  he 
could  not  bear  being  robbed  of  that  source  of  poetical  inspiration. 
He  emitted  profound  sighs  and  superb  declamations. 

Castro  and  I  listened  to  them  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave.  Our 
tongues  were  dry  and  swollen  in  our  mouths,  there  was  the  pres- 
sure of  an  iron  clutch  on  our  windpipes,  fire  in  our  throats,  and  the 
pangs  of  hunger  that  tore  at  us  like  iron  pincers.  But  we  could 
hear  that  the  bandits  above  were  anxious  to  be  gone ;  they  had  but 
very  few  charges  for  their  guns,  and  it  was  apparent  that  they 
were  afraid  of  a  collision  with  the  peons  of  the  hacienda.  Glaring 
at  each  other  with  bloodshot,  uncertain  eyes,  Castro  and  I  imagined 
longingly  a  vision  of  men  in  ponchos  spurring  madly  out  of  the 
woods,  bent  low,  and  swinging  riatas  over  the  necks  of  their 
horses — with  the  thunder  of  the  galloping  hoofs  in  the  cave. 
Seraphina  had  withdrawn  further  into  the  darkness.  And,  with 
a  shrinking  fear,  I  would  join  her,  to  eat  my  heart  out  by  the  side 
of  her  tense  and  mute  contemplation. 

Sometimes  Manuel  would  begin  again,  "Castro!  Castro! 
Castro!  "  till  he  seemed  to  stagger  the  rocks  and  disturb  the  placid 
sunshine  with  an  immense  wave  of  sound.  He  called  upon  his 
victim  to  drink  once  more  before  he  died.  Long  shrieks  of  derision 
rent  the  air,  as  if  torn  out  of  his  breast  by  far  greater  torments 
than  any  his  fancy  delighted  to  invent.  There  was  something 
terrible  and  weird  in  the  abundance  of  words  screeched  continu- 
ously, without  end,  as  if  in  desperation.  No  wonder  Castro  fled 
from  the  passage.  And  Seraphina  and  I,  within,  would  be  startled 
out  of  our  half-delirious  state  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  that 
old  man,  disordered,  sordid,  with  a  white  beard  sprouting,  who 
wandered,  weeping  aloud  in  the  twilight. 

More  than  once  I  would  stagger  off  far  away  into  the  depths 
of  the  cavern  in  an  access  of  rage,  fling  myself  on  the  floor,  bite 
my  arms,  beat  my  head  on  the  rock.  I  would  give  myself  up. 
She  must  be  saved  from  this  tortured  death.  She  had  said  she 
would  throw  herself  over  if  I  left  her.  But  would  she  have  the 
strength?  It  was  impossible  to  know.  For  days  it  seemed  she 
had  been  lying  perfectly  still,  on  her  side,  one  hand  under  her  wan 


PART  FOURTH  309 

cheek,  and  only  answering  "  Juan  "  when  I  pronounced  her  name. 
There  was  something  awful  in  our  dry  whispers.  They  were  life- 
less, like  the  tones  of  the  dead,  if  the  dead  ever  speak  to  each  other 
across  the  earth  separating  the  graves.  The  moral  suffering,  joined 
to  the  physical  torture  of  hunger  and  thirst,  annihilated  my  will  in 
a  measure,  but  also  kindled  a  vague,  gnawing  feeling  of  hostility 
against  her.  She  asked  too  much  of  me.  It  was  too  much.  And 
I  would  drag  myself  back  to  sit  for  hours,  and  with  an  aching 
heart  look  towards  her  couch  from  a  distance. 

My  eyes,  accustomed  to  obscurity,  traced  an  indistinct  and 
recumbent  form.  Her  forehead  was  white;  her  hair  merged  into 
the  darkness  which  was  gathering  slowly  upon  her  eyes,  her  cheeks, 
her  throat.  She  was  perfectly  still.  It  was  cruel,  it  was  odious, 
it  was  intolerable  to  be  so  still.  This  must  end.  I  would  carry 
her  out  by  main  force.  She  said  no  word,  but  there  was  in  the 
embrace  of  those  arms  instantly  thrown  around  my  neck,  in  the 
feel  of  those  dry  lips  pressed  upon  mine,  in  the  emaciated  face, 
in  the  big  shining  eyes  of  that  being  as  light  as  a  feather,  a  passion- 
ate mournfulness  of  seduction,  a  tenacious  clinging  to  the  ap- 
pointed fate,  that  suddenly  overawed  my  movement  of  rage.  I 
laid  her  down  again,  and  covered  my  face  with  my  hands.  She 
called  out  to  Castro.  He  reeled,  as  if  drunk,  and  waited  at  the 
head  of  her  couch,  with  his  chin  dropped  on  his  breast. 

"  Vuestra  Senoria,"  he  muttered. 

"  Listen  well,  Castro."  Her  voice  was  very  faint,  and  each 
word  came  alone,  as  if  shrunk  and  parched.  "  Can  my  gold — 
the  promise  of  much  gold — you  know  these  men — save  the 
lives   .    .    .  ? " 

He  uttered  a  choked  cry,  and  began  to  tremble,  groping  for  her 
hand. 

"  Si,  senorita.  Excellency,  si.  It  would.  Mercy.  Save  me. 
I  am  too  old  to  bear  this.    Gold,  yes;  much  gold.    Manuel.   .   .   ." 

"Listen,  Castro.   .   .   .    And  Don  Juan?" 

His  head  fell  again. 

"  Speak  the  truth,  Castro." 

He  struggled  with  himself;  then,  rattling  in  his  throat,  shrieked 
"No!"  with  a  terrible  effort.  "No.  Nothing  can  save  thy 
English  lover." 


310  ROMANCE 

"  Why?  "  she  breathed  feebly. 

He  raged  at  her  in  his  weakness.  Why?  Because  the  order 
had  gone  forth;  because  they  dared  not  disobey.  Because  she  had 
only  gold  in  the  palm  of  her  hand,  while  Senor  O'Brien  held  all 
their  lives  in  his.  The  accursed  Juez  was  for  them  like  death 
itself  that  walks  amongst  men,  taking  this  one,  leaving  another. 
He  was  their  life,  and  their  law,  and  their  safety,  and  their  death 
— and  the  caballero  had  not  killed  him.   .   .  . 

His  voice  seemed  to  wither  and  dry  up  gradually  in  his  throat. 
He  crawled  away,  and  we  heard  him  chuckling  horribly  some- 
where, like  a  madman.     Seraphina  stretched  out  her  hand. 

"  Then,  Juan — ^why  not  together — like  this?  " 

If  she  had  the  courage  of  this  death,  I  must  have  even  more. 
It  was  a  point  of  honor.  I  had  no  wish,  and  no  right,  to  seek  for 
some  easier  way  out  of  life.  But  she  had  a  woman's  capacity  for 
passive  endurance,  a  serenity  of  mind  in  this  martyrdom  confessing 
to  something  sinister  in  the  power  of  love  that,  like  faith,  can  move 
mountains  and  order  cruel  sacrifices.  She  could  have  walked  out 
in  perfect  safety — and  it  was  that  thought  that  maddened  me. 
And  there  was  no  sleep;  there  were  only  intervals  in  which  I 
could  fall  into  a  delirious  reverie  of  still  lakes,  of  vast  sheets  of 
water.  I  waded  into  them  up  to  my  lips.  Never  further.  They 
were  smooth  and  cold  as  ice;  I  stood  in  them  shivering  and  strain- 
ing for  a  draught,  burning  within  with  the  fire  of  thirst,  while  a 
phantom  all  pale,  and  with  its  hair  streaming,  called  to  me 
"  Courage  "  from  the  brink  in  Seraphina's  voice.  As  to  Castro, 
he  was  going  mad.  He  was  simply  going  mad,  as  people  go  mad 
for  want  of  food  and  drink.  And  yet  he  seemed  to  keep  his 
strength.  He  was  never  still.  It  was  a  factitious  strength,  the 
restlessness  of  incipient  insanity.  Once,  while  I  was  trying  to  talk 
with  him  about  our  only  hope — the  peons — he  gave  me  a  look  of 
such  somber  distraction  that  I  left  off,  intimidated,  to  wonder 
vaguely  at  this  glimpse  of  something  hidden  and  excessive  spring- 
ing from  torments  which  surely  could  be  no  greater  than  mine. 

He  had  the  strength,  and  sometimes  he  could  find  the  voice,  to 
hurl  abuse,  curses,  and  imprecations  from  the  mouth  of  the  cave. 
Great  shouts  of  laughter  exploded  above,  and  they  seemed  to  hold 
their   breath   to   hear   more;    or   Manuel,    hanging   over,   would 


PART  FOURTH  311 

praise  in  mocking,  mellifluous  accents  the  energy  of  his  denunci- 
ations. I  tried  to  pull  him  away  from  there,  but  he  turned  upon 
me  fiercely ;  and  from  prudence — for  all  hope  was  not  dead  in  me 
yet — I  left  him  alone. 

That  night  I  heard  him  make  an  extraordinary  sound  of  chew- 
ing; at  the  same  time  he  was  sobbing  and  cursing  stealthily.  He 
had  found  something  to  eat,  then !  I  could  not  believe  my  ears, 
but  I  began  to  creep  towards  the  sound,  and  suddenly  there  was  a 
short,  mad  scuffle  in  the  darkness,  during  which  I  nearly  spitted 
myself  on  his  blade.  At  last,  trembling  in  every  limb,  with  my 
blood  beating  furiously  in  my  ears,  I  scrambled  to  my  feet,  holding 
a  small  piece  of  meat  in  my  hands.  Instantly,  without  hesitating, 
without  thinking,  I  plunged  my  teeth  into  it  only  to  fling  it  far 
away  from  me  with  a  frantic  execration.  This  was  the  first 
sound  uttered  since  we  had  grappled.  Lying  prone  near  me, 
Castro,  with  a  rattle  in  his  throat,  tried  to  laugh. 

This  was  a  supreme  touch  of  Manuel's  art;  they  were  pressed 
for  time,  and  he  had  hit  upon  that  deep  and  politic  invention  to 
hasten  the  surrender  of  his  beloved  victim.  I  nearly  cried  with 
the  fiery  pain  on  my  cracked  lips.  That  piece  of  half-putrid  flesh 
was  salt — horribly  salt — salt  like  salt  itself.  Whenever  they 
heard  him  rave  and  mutter  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  they  would 
throw  down  these  prepared  scraps.  It  was  as  if  I  had  put  a  live 
coal  into  my  mouth. 

"  Ha!  "  he  croaked  feebly.  "  Have  you  thrown  it  away?  I, 
too ;  the  first  piece.  No  matter.  I  can  no  more  swallow  anything, 
now." 

His  voice  was  like  the  rustling  of  parchment  at  my  feet. 

"  Do  not  look  for  it,  Don  Juan.  The  sinners  in  hell.  .  .  . 
Ha!     Fiend.     I  could  not  resist." 

I  sank  down  by  his  side.  He  seemed  to  be  writhing  on  the 
floor  muttering,  "  Thirst — thirst — thirst."  His  blade  clicked  on 
the  rock;  then  all  was  still.  Was  he  dead?  Suddenly  he  began 
with  an  amazingly  animated  utterance. 

"  Senor!     For  this  they  had  to  kill  cattle." 

This  thought  had  kept  him  up.  Probably,  they  had  been  firing 
shots.  But  there  was  a  way  of  hamstringing  a  stalked  cow 
silently;  and  the  plains  were  vast,  the  grass  on  them  was  long;  the 


312  ROMANCE 

carcasses  would  lie  hidden  out  of  sight ;  the  herds  were  rounded  up 
only  twice  every  year.  His  despairing  voice  died  out  in  a  mourn- 
ful fall,  and  again  he  was  as  still  as  death. 

"  No!  I  can  bear  this  no  longer,"  he  uttered  with  force.  He 
refused  to  bear  it.  He  suffered  too  much.  There  was  no  hope. 
He  would  overwhelm  them  with  maledictions,  and  then  leap 
down  from  the  ledge.     "  Adios,  sehor." 

I  stretched  out  my  arm  and  caught  him  by  the  leg.  It  seemed 
to  me  I  could  not  part  with  him.  It  would  have  been  disloyal, 
an  admission  that  all  was  over,  the  beginning  of  the  end.  We 
were  exhausting  ourselves  by  this  sort  of  imbecile  wrestling. 
Meantime,  I  kept  on  entreating  him  to  be  a  man;  and  at  last  I 
managed  to  clamber  upon  his  chest.  "A  man!"  he  sighed.  I 
released  him.  For  a  space,  unheard  in  the  darkness,  he  seemed  to 
be  collecting  all  his  remaining  strength. 

"  Oh,  those  strange  Inglez!  Why  should  I  not  leap?  and  whom 
do  you  love  best  or  hate  more,  me  or  the  senorita?  Be  thou  a 
man,  also,  and  pray  God  to  give  thee  reason  to  understand  men 
for  once  in  thy  life.  Ha!  Enamored  woman — he  is  a  fool! 
But  I,  Castro.   .   .   ." 

His  whispering  became  appallingly  unintelligible,  then  ceased, 
passing  into  a  moan.  My  will  to  restrain  him  abandoned  me.  He 
had  brought  this  on  us.  And  if  he  really  wished  to  give  up  the 
struggle.   .  .   . 

"  Senor,"  he  mumbled  brokenly,  "a  thousand  thanks.  Br-r-r! 
Oh,  the  ugly  water — water — water — water — salt  water — salt! 
You  saved  me.  Why?  Let  God  be  the  Judge.  I  would  have 
preferred  a  malignant  demon  for  a  friend.  I  forgive  you.  Adios! 
And — her  excellency — poor  Castro.  .  .  .  Ha!  Thou  old  scor- 
pion, encircled  by  fire — by  fire  and  thirst.  No.  No  scorpion, 
alas!  Only  a  man — not  like  you — therefore — a  Mass — or  two — 
perhaps.    .    .    ." 

The  freshness  of  the  night  penetrated  through  the  arch,  as  far 
as  the  faint  twilight  of  the  day.  I  heard  his  tearful  muttering 
creep  away  from  my  side.  "  Thirst — thirst — thirst."  I  did  not 
stir ;  and  an  incredulity,  a  weariness,  the  sense  of  our  common  fate, 
mingled  with  an  unconfessed  desire — the  desire  of  seeing  what 
would  come  of  it — a  desire  that  stirred  my  blood  like  a  glimmer  of 


PART  FOURTH  313 

hope,  and  prevented  me  from  making  a  movement  or  uttering  a 
whisper.  If  his  sufferings  were  so  great,  who  was  I  to  .  .  . 
Mine,  too.     I  almost  envied  him.     He  was  free. 

As  if  an  inward  obscurity  had  parted  in  two  I  looked  to  the  very 
bottom  of  my  thoughts.  And  his  action  appeared  like  a  sacrifice. 
It  could  liberate  us  two  from  this  cave  before  it  was  too  late.  He, 
he  alone,  was  the  prey  they  had  trapped.  They  would  be  satisfied, 
probably.  Nay!  There  could  be  no  doubt.  Directly  he  was  dead 
they  would  depart.  Ah !  he  wanted  to  leap.  He  must  not  be  al- 
lowed. Now  that  I  had  understood  perfectly  what  this  meant,  I 
had  to  prevent  him.  There  was  no  choice.  I  must  stop  him  at 
any  cost. 

The  awakening  of  my  conscience  sent  me  to  my  feet ;  but  before 
I  had  stumbled  halfway  through  the  passage  I  heard  his  shout  in 
the  open  air,  "  Behold  me!  " 

A  man  outside  cried  excitedly,  "  He  is  out!  " 

An  exulting  tumult  fell  into  the  arch,  the  clash  of  twenty  voices 
yelling  in  different  keys,  "  He  is  out — the  traitor!  He  is  out!  " 
I  was  too  late,  but  I  made  three  more  hesitating  steps  and  stood 
blinded.  The  flaming  branches  they  were  holding  over  the  preci- 
pice showered  a  multitude  of  sparks,  that  fell  disappearing 
continuously  in  the  lurid  light,  shutting  out  the  night  from  the 
mouth  of  the  cave.  And  in  this  light  Castro  could  be  seen  kneel- 
ing on  the  other  side  of  the  sill. 

With  his  fingers  clutching  the  edge  of  the  slab,  he  hung  out- 
wards, his  head  falling  back,  his  spine  arched  tensely,  like  a  bow; 
and  the  red  sparks  coming  from  above  with  the  dancing  whirl  of 
snowflakes,  vanished  in  the  air  before  they  could  settle  on  his  face. 

"Manuel!     Manuel!" 

They  answered  with  a  deep,  confused  growl,  jostling  and  crowd- 
ing on  the  edge  to  look  down  into  his  eyes.  Meantime  I  stared 
at  the  convulsive  heaving  of  his  breast,  at  his  upturned  chin,  his 
swelling  throat.  He  defied  Manuel.  He  would  leap.  Behold! 
he  was  going  to  leap — to  his  own  death — in  his  own  time.  He 
challenged  them  to  come  down  on  the  ledge;  and  the  blade  of  the 
maimed  arm  waved  to  and  fro  stiffly,  point  up,  like  a  red-hot 
weapon  in  the  light.  He  devoted  them  to  pestilence,  to  English 
gallows,  to  the  infernal  powers ;  while  all  the  time  the  commenting 


314  ROMANCE 

murmurs  passed  over  his  head,  as  though  he  had  extorted  their 
sinister  appreciation. 

"  Canalla!  dogs,  thieves,  prey  of  death,  vermin  of  hell — I  spit 
on  you — like  this!" 

He  had  not  the  force,  nor  the  saliva,  and  remained  straining 
mutely  upwards  while  they  laughed  at  him  all  together,  with  some- 
thing somber,  and  as  if  doomed  in  their  derision.  ..."  He  will 
jump!  No,  he  will  not!"  "Yes!  Leap,  Castro!  Spit, 
Castro!  "  "  He  will  run  back  into  the  cave!  Maladetta!  "... 
Manuel's  voiced  cooed  lovingly  on  the  brink: 

"  Come  to  us  and  drink,  Castro." 

I  waited  for  his  leap  with  doubt,  with  disbelief,  in  the  helpless 
agitation  of  the  weak.    Gradually  he  seemed  to  relax  all  over. 

"Drink  deep;  drink,  and  drink,  and  drink,  Castro.  Water. 
Clear  water,  cool  water.    Taste,  Castro !  " 

He  called  on  him  in  tones  that  were  almost  tender  in  their 
urgency,  to  come  and  drink  before  he  died.  His  voice  seemed  to 
cast  a  spell,  like  an  incantation,  upon  the  tubby  little  figure,  with 
something  yearning  in  the  upward  turn  of  the  listening  face. 

"Drink!"  Manuel  repeated  the  word  several  times;  then, 
suddenly  he  called,  "  Taste,  Castro,  taste,"  and  a  descending 
brightness,  as  of  a  crystal  rod  hurled  from  above,  shivered  to 
nothing  on  the  upturned  face.  The  light  disappearing  from  before 
the  cave  seemed  scared  away  by  the  inhuman  discord  of  his  shriek ; 
and  I  flung  myself  forward  to  lick  the  splash  of  moisture  on  the 
sill.  I  did  not  think  of  Castro,  I  had  forgotten  him.  I  raged  at 
the  deception  of  my  thirst,  exploring  with  my  tongue  the  rough 
surface  of  the  stone  till  I  tasted  my  own  blood.  Only  then,  rais- 
ing my  head  to  gasp,  and  clench  my  fists  with  a  baffled  and  exas- 
perated desire,  I  noticed  how  profound  was  the  silence,  in  which 
the  words,  "  Take  away  his  sting,"  seemed  to  pronounce  them- 
selves over  the  ravine  in  the  impersonal  austerity  of  the  rock,  and 
with  the  tone  of  a  tremendous  decree. 


H 


CHAPTER  X 

E  had  surrendered  to  his  thirst.  What  weakness!  He 
had  not  thrown  himself  over,  then.  What  folly!  One 
splash  of  water  on  his  face  had  been  enough.  He  was 
contemptible;  and  lying  collapsed,  in  a  sort  of  tormented  apathy, 
at  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  I  despised  and  envied  his  good  fortune. 
It  could  not  save  him  from  death,  but  at  least  he  drank.  I  under- 
stood this  when  I  heard  his  voice,  a  voice  altogether  altered — a 
firm,  greedy  voice  saying,  "  More,"  breathlessly.  And  then  he 
drank  again.  He  was  drinking.  He  was  drinking  up  there  in  the 
light  of  the  fire,  in  a  circle  of  mortal  enemies,  under  Manuel's 
gloating  eyes.  Drinking!  O  happiness!  O  delight!  What  a 
mi-serable  wretch!  I  clawed  the  stone  convulsively;  I  think  I 
would  have  rushed  out  for  my  share  if  I  had  not  heard  Manuel's 
cruel  and  caressing  voice: 

"  How  now  ?  You  do  not  want  to  throw  yourself  over,  my 
Castro?" 

"  I  have  drunk,"  he  said  gloomily. 

I  think  they  must  have  given  him  something  to  eat  then.  In 
my  mind  there  are  many  blanks  in  the  vision  of  that  scene,  a  vision 
built  upon  a  few  words  reaching  me,  suddenly,  vvath  great  inter- 
vals of  silence  between,  as  though  I  had  been  coming  to  myself 
out  of  a  dead  faint  now  and  then.  A  ferocious  hum  of  many 
voices  would  rise  sometimes  impatiently,  the  scrambling  of  feet 
near  the  edge ;  or,  in  a  sinister  and  expectant  stillness,  Manuel  the 
artist  would  be  speaking  to  his  "  beloved  victim  Castro  "  in  a 
gentle  and  insinuating  voice  that  seemed  to  tremble  slightly  with 
eagerness.  Had  he  eaten  and  drunk  enough?  They  had  kept 
their  promises,  he  said.  They  would  keep  them  all.  The  water 
had  been  cool — and  presently  he,  Manuel-del-Popolo,  would  ac- 
company with  his  guitar  and  his  voice  the  last  moments  of  his 
victim.  Bursts  of  laughter  punctuated  his  banter.  Ah!  that 
Manuel,  that  Manuel !     Some  actually  swore  in  admiration.     But 

315 


31 6  ROMANCE 

was  Castro  really  at  his  ease?  Was  It  not  good  to  eat  and  drink? 
Had  he  quite  returned  to  life?  But,  Caramba,  amigos,  what 
neglect!  The  caballero  who  has  honored  us  must  smoke.  They 
shouted  in  high  glee: 

"  Yes.    Smoke,  Castro.    Let  him  smoke." 

I  suppose  he  did;  and  Manuel  expounded  to  him  how  pleasant 
life  was  in  which  one  could  eat,  and  drink,  and  smoke.  His  words 
tortured  me.  Castro  remained  mute — from  disdain,  from  despair, 
perhaps.  Afterwards  they  carried  him  along  clear  of  the  cornice, 
and  I  understood  they  formed  a  half-circle  round  him,  drawing 
their  knives.  Manuel,  screeching  in  a  high  falsetto,  ordered  the 
bonds  of  his  feet  to  be  cut.  I  advanced  my  head  out  as  far  as  I 
dared ;  their  voices  reached  me  deadened ;  I  could  only  see  the  pro- 
found shadow  of  the  ravine,  a  patch  of  dark,  clear  sky  opulent  with 
stars,  and  the  play  of  the  firelight  on  the  opposite  side.  The  shadow 
of  a  pair  of  monumental  feet,  and  the  lower  edge  of  a  cloak, 
spread  amply  like  a  skirt,  stood  out  in  it,  intensely  black  and  mo- 
tionless, right  in  front  of  the  cave.  Now  and  then,  elbowed  in  the 
surge  round  Castro,  the  guitar  emitted  a  deep  and  hollow  reso- 
nance. He  was  tumultuously  ordered  to  stand  up  and,  I  imagine, 
he  was  being  pricked  with  the  points  of  their  knives  till  he  did 
get  on  his  feet.  "  Jump  "  they  roared  all  together — and  Manuel 
began  to  finger  the  strings,  lifting  up  his  voice  between  the  gusts 
of  savage  hilarity,  mingled  with  cries  of  death.  He  exhorted  his 
followers  to  close  on  the  traitor  inch  by  inch,  presenting  their 
knives. 

"  He  runs  here  and  there,  the  blood  trickling  from  his  limbs 
— but  in  vain,  this  is  the  appointed  time  for  the  leap.    .   .   ." 

It  was  an  improvisation ;  they  stamped  their  feet  to  the  slow 
measure;  they  shouted  in  chorus  the  one  word  "Leap!"  raising 
a  ferocious  roar;  and  between  whiles  the  song  of  voice  and  strings 
Game  to  me  from  a  distance,  softened  and  lingering  in  a  voluptuous 
and  pitiless  cadence  that  wrung  my  heart,  and  seemed  to  eat  up 
the  remnants  of  my  strength.  But  what  could  I  have  done,  even 
if  I  had  had  the  strength  of  a  giant,  and  a  most  fearless  resolution  ? 
I  should  have  been  shot  dead  before  I  had  crawled  halfway  up  the 
ledge.  A  piercing  shriek  covered  the  guitar,  the  song,  and  the  wild 
merriment. 


PART  FOURTH  317 

Then  everything  seemed  to  stop — even  my  own  painful  breath- 
ing.   Again  Castro  shrieked  like  a  madman : 

"  Senorita — your  gold.     Senorita!     Hear  me!     Help!" 

Then  all  was  still. 

"  Hear  the  dead  calling  to  the  dead,"  sneered  Manuel. 

An  awestruck  sort  of  hum  proceeded  from  the  Spaniards.  Was 
the  senorita  alive?    In  the  cave?    Or  where? 

"  Her  nod  would  have  saved  thee,  Castro,"  said  Manuel  slowly. 

I  got  up.     I  heard  Castro  stammer  wildly: 

"  She  shall  fill  both  your  hands  with  gold.  Do  you  hear, 
hojnbresf     I,  Castro,  tell  you — each  man — both  hands " 

He  had  done  it.  The  last  hope  was  gone  now.  And  all  that 
there  remained  for  me  to  do  was  to  leap  over  or  give  myself  up, 
and  end  this  horrible  business. 

"  She  was  a  creature  born  to  command  the  moon  and  the  stars," 
Manuel  mused  aloud  in  a  vibrating  tone,  and  suddenly  smote  the 
strings  with  emphatic  violence.  She  could  even  stay  his  ven- 
geance. But  was  it  possible!  No,  no.  It  could  not  be — and 
yet.   .   .   . 

"  Thou  art  alive  yet,  Castro,"  he  cried.  "  Thou  hast  eaten 
and  drunk;  life  is  good — is  it  not,  old  man? — and  the  leap  is 
high." 

He  thundered  "Silence!"  to  still  the  excited  murmurs  of  his 
band.  If  she  lived  Castro  should  live,  too — he,  Manuel,  said  so; 
but  he  threatened  him  with  horrible  tortures,  with  two  days  of 
slow  dying,  if  he  dared  to  deceive.  Let  him,  then,  speak  the  truth 
quickly. 

"  Speak,  viejo.    Where  is  she?  " 

And  at  the  opening,  fifty  yards  away,  I  was  tempted  to  call  out, 
as  though  I  had  loved  Castro  well  enough  to  save  him  from  the 
shame  and  remorse  of  a  plain  betrayal.  That  the  moment  of  it 
had  come  I  could  have  no  doubt.  And  it  was  I  myself,  perhaps, 
who  could  not  face  the  certitude  of  his  downfall.  If  my  throat 
had  not  been  so  compressed,  so  dry  with  thirst  and  choked  with 
emotion,  I  believe  I  should  have  cried  out  and  brought  them  away 
from  that  miserable  man  v/ith  a  rush.  Since  we  were  lost,  he 
at  least  should  be  saved  from  this.  I  suffered  from  his  spasmodic, 
agonized  laugh  away  there,  with  twenty  knives  aimed  at  his  breast 


3i8  ROMANCE 

and  the  eighty-feet  drop  of  the  precipice  at  his  back.  Why  did 
he  hesitate? 

I  was  to  learn,  then,  that  the  ultimate  value  of  life  to  all  of  us 
is  based  on  the  means  of  self-deception.  Morally  he  had  his  back 
against  the  wall,  he  could  not  hope  to  deceive  himself;  and  after 
Manuel  had  cried  again  at  him,  "Where  are  they?"  in  a  really 
terrible  tone,  I  heard  his  answer: 

"  At  the  bottom  of  the  sea." 

He  had  his  own  courage  after  all — if  only  the  courage  not  to 
believe  in  Manuel's  promises.  And  he  must  have  been  weary  of 
his  life — weary  enough  not  to  pay  that  price.  And  yet  he  had 
gone  to  the  very  verge,  calling  upon  Seraphina  as  if  she  could  hear 
him.  Madness  of  fear,  no  doubt — succeeded  by  an  awakening,  a 
heroic  reaction.  And  yet  sometimes  it  seems  to  me  as  if  the  whole 
scene,  with  his  wild  cries  for  help,  had  been  the  outcome  of  a 
supreme  exercise  of  cunning.  For,  indeed,  he  could  not  have  in- 
vented anything  better  to  bring  the  conviction  of  our  death  to  the 
most  skeptical  of  those  ruffians.  All  I  heard  after  his  words  had 
been  a  great  shout,  followed  by  a  sudden  and  unbroken  silence. 
It  seemed  to  last  a  very  long  time.  He  had  thrown  himself  over! 
It  is  like  the  blank  space  of  a  swoon  to  me,  and  yet  it  must  have 
been  real  enough,  because,  huddled  up  just  inside  the  sill,  with  my 
head  reposing  wearily  on  the  stone,  I  watched  three  moving  flames 
of  lighted  branches  carried  by  men  follow  each  other  closely  in 
a  swaying  descent  along  the.  path  on  the  other  side  of  the  ravine. 
They  passed  on  downwards,  flickering  out  of  view.  Then,  after 
a  time,  a  voice  below,  to  the  left  of  the  cave,  ascended  with  a 
hooting  and  mournful  effect  from  the  depths. 

"Manuel!    Manuel!    We  have  found  him !  .  .   .  Es  muertel  " 

And  from  above  Manuel's  shout  rolled,  augmented,  between 
the  rocks. 

"  Bueno!    Turn  his  face  up — for  the  birds!  " 

They  continued  calling  to  each  other  for  a  good  while.  The 
men  below  declared  their  intention  of  going  on  to  the  sea  shore; 
and  Manuel  shouted  to  them  not  to  forget  to  send  him  up  a  good 
rope  early  in  the  morning.  Apparently,  the  schooner  had  been 
refloated  some  time  before;  many  of  the  Lugarenos  were  to  sleep 
on  board.    They  purposed  to  set  sail  early  next  day. 


PART  FOURTH  319 

This  revived  me,  and  I  spent  the  night  between  Seraphina's 
couch  and  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  keeping  tight  hold  of  my  reason 
that  seemed  to  lose  itself  in  this  hope,  in  this  darkness,  in  this  tor- 
ment. I  touched  her  cheek,  it  was  hot — while  her  forehead  felt 
to  my  fingers  as  cold  as  ice.  I  had  no  more  voice,  but  I  tried  to 
force  out  some  harsh  whispers  through  my  throat.  They  sounded 
horrible  to  my  own  ears,  and  she  endeavored  to  soothe  me  by  mur- 
muring my  name  feebly.  I  believe  she  thought  me  delirious.  I 
tried  to  pray  for  my  strength  to  last  till  I  could  carry  her  out  of 
that  cave  to  the  side  of  the  brook — then  let  death  come.  "  Live, 
live,"  I  whispered  into  her  ear,  and  would  hear  a  sigh  so  faint,  so 
feeble,  that  it  swayed  all  my  soul  with  pity  and  fear,  "  Yes, 
Juan."  .  .  .  And  I  would  go  away  to  watch  for  the  dawn  from 
the  mouth  of  the  cave,  and  curse  the  stars  that  would  not  fade. 

Manuel's  voice  always  steadied  me.  A  languor  had  come  over 
them  above,  as  if  their  passion  had  been  exhausted ;  as  if  their 
hearts  had  been  saddened  by  an  unbridled  debauch.  There  was, 
however,  their  everlasting  quarreling.  Several  of  them,  I  under- 
stood, left  the  camp  for  the  schooner,  but  avoiding  the  road  by  the 
ravine  as  if  Castro's  dead  body  down  there  had  made  it  impassable. 
And  the  talk  went  on  late  into  the  night.  There  was  some  super- 
stitious fear  attached  to  the  cave — a  legend  of  men  who  had  gone 
in  and  had  never  come  back  any  more.  All  they  knew  of  it  was 
the  region  of  twilight;  formerly,  when  they  used  the  shelter  of  the 
cavern,  no  one,  it  seems,  ever  ventured  outside  the  circle  of  the 
fire.  Manuel  disdained  their  fears.  Had  he  not  been  such  a  pro- 
found politico,  a  man  of  stratagems,  there  would  have  been  a 
necessity  to  go  down  and  see.  .  .  .  They  all  protested.  Who 
was  going  dov/n?  Not  they.  .  .  .  Their  craven  cowardice  was 
amazing. 

He  begged  them  to  keep  themselves  quiet.  They  had  him  for 
Capataz  now.  A  man  of  intelligence.  Had  he  not  enticed  Castro 
out?  He  had  never  believed  there  was  anyone  else  in  there.  He 
sighed.  Otherwise  Castro  would  have  tried  to  save  hip  life  by 
confessing.  There  had  been  nothing  to  confess.  But  he  had  the 
means  of  making  sure.  A  voice  suggested  that  the  Inglez  might 
have  withdrawn  himself  into  the  depths.  These  English  were  not 
afraid  of  demons,  being  devils  themselves;  and  this  one  was  fiend- 


320  ROMANCE 

ishly  reckless.  But  Manuel  observed,  contemptuously,  that  a 
man  trapped  like  this  would  remain  near  the  opening.  Hope 
would  keep  him  there  till  he  died — unless  he  rushed  out  like 
Castro.  Manuel  laughed,  but  in  a  mournful  tone:  and,  listening 
to  the  craven  talk  of  their  doubts  and  fears,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
if  I  could  appear  at  one  bound  amongst  them,  they  would  scatter 
like  chaff  before  my  glance.  It  seemed  intolerable  to  wait;  more 
than  human  strength  could  bear.  Would  the  day  never  come? 
A  drowsiness  stole  upon  their  voices. 

Manuel  kept  watch.  He  fed  the  fire,  and  his  incomplete 
shadow,  projected  across  the  chasm,  would  pass  and  return,  ob- 
scuring the  glow  that  fell  on  the  rock.  His  footsteps  seemed  to 
measure  the  interminable  duration  of  the  night.  Sometimes  he 
would  stop  short  and  talk  to  himself  in  low,  exalted  mutters.  A 
big  bright  star  rested  on  the  brow  of  the  rock  opposite,  shining 
straight  into  my  eyes.  It  sank,  as  if  it  had  plunged  into  the  stone. 
At  last.  Another  came  to  look  into  the  cavern.  I  watched  the 
gradual  coming  of  a  gray  sheen  from  the  side  of  Seraphina's  couch. 
This  was  the  day,  the  last  day  of  pain,  or  else  of  life.  Its  ghostly 
edge  invaded  slowly  the  darkness  of  the  cave  towards  its  appointed 
limit,  creeping  slowly,  as  colorless  as  spilt  water  on  the  floor.  I 
pressed  my  lips  silently  upon  her  cheek.  Her  eyes  were  open.  It 
seemed  to  me  she  had  a  smile  fainter  than  her  sighs.  She  was 
very  brave,  but  her  smile  did  not  go  beyond  her  lips.  Not  a 
feature  of  her  face  moved.  I  could  have  opened  my  veins  for  her 
without  hesitation,  if  it  had  not  been  a  forbidden  sacrifice. 

Would  they  go?  I  asked  myself.  Through  Castro's  heroism 
or  through  his  weakness,  perhaps  through  both  the  heroism  and 
the  weakness  of  that  man,  they  must  be  satisfied.  They  must  be. 
I  could  not  doubt  it;  I  could  not  believe  it.  Everything  seemed 
improbable;  evciything  seemed  possible.  If  they  descended  I 
would,  I  thought,  have  the  strength  to  carry  her  off,  away  into  the 
darkness.  If  there  was  any  truth  in  what  I  had  overheard  them 
saying,  that  the  depths  of  the  cavern  concealed  an  abyss,  we  would 
cast  ourselves  into  it. 

The  feeble,  consenting  pressure  of  her  hand  horrified  me.  They 
would  not  come  down.  They  were  afraid  of  that  place,  I  whis- 
pered to  her — and  I  thought  to  myself  that  such  cowardice  was 


PART  FOURTH  321 

incredible.  Our  fate  was  sealed.  And  yet  from  what  I  had 
heard.   .   .   . 

We  watched  the  daylight  growing  in  the  opening;  at  any 
moment  it  might  have  been  obscured  by  their  figures.  The  tor- 
menting incertitudes  of  that  hour  were  cruel  enough  to  overcome, 
almost,  the  sensations  of  thirst,  of  hunger,  to  engender  a  restless- 
ness that  had  the  effect  of  renewed  vigor.  They  were  like  a 
nightmare;  but  that  nightmare  seemed  to  clear  my  mind  of  its 
feverish  hallucinations.  I  was  more  collected,  then,  than  I  had 
been  for  the  last  forty-eight  hours  of  our  imprisonment.  But  I 
could  not  remain  there,  waiting.  It  was  absolutely  necessary  that 
I  should  watch  at  the  entrance  for  the  moment  of  their  depar- 
ture. 

The  morning  was  serenely  cool  and,  in  its  stillness,  their  talk 
filled  with  clear-cut  words  the  calm  air  of  the  ravine.  A  party 
— I  could  not  tell  how  many — had  already  come  up  from  the 
schooner  in  a  great  state  of  excitement.  They  feared  that  their 
presence  had,  in  some  way,  become  known  to  the  peons  of  the 
hacienda.  There  was  much  abuse  of  a  man  called  Carneiro,  who, 
the  day  before,  had  fired  an  incautious  shot  at  a  fat  cow  on  one 
of  the  inland  savannas.  They  cursed  him.  Last  night,  before  the 
moon  rose,  those  on  board  the  schooner  had  heard  the  whinnying 
of  a  horse.  Somebody  had  ridden  down  to  the  water's  edge  in 
the  darkness  and,  after  waiting  a  while,  had  galloped  back  the 
way  he  came.    The  prints  of  hoofs  on  the  beach  showed  that. 

They  feared  these  horsemen  greatly.  A  vengeance  was  owing 
for  the  man  Manuel  had  killed;  and  I  could  guess  they  talked 
with  their  faces  over  their  shoulders.  "  And  what  about  finding 
out  whether  the  Inglez  was  there,  dead  or  alive?  "  asked  some. 

I  was  sure,  now,  that  they  would  not  come  down  in  a  body.  It 
would  expose  them  to  the  danger  of  being  caught  in  the  cavern 
by  the  peons.  There  was  no  time  for  a  thorough  search,  they 
argued. 

For  the  first  time  that  morning  I  heard  Manuel's  voice,  "  Stand 
aside." 

He  came  down  to  the  very  brink. 

"If  the  Inglez  is  down  there,  and  if  he  is  alive,  he  is  listening  to 
us  now." 


322  ROMANCE 

He  was  as  certain  as  though  he  had  been  able  to  see  me.  He 
added : 

"  But  there's  no  one." 

"  Go  and  look,  Manuel,"  they  cried. 

He  said  something  in  a  tone  of  contempt.  The  voices  above 
my  head  sank  into  busy  murmurs. 

"  Give  me  the  rope  here,"  he  said  aloud. 

I  had  a  feeling  of  some  inconceivable  danger  nearing  me;  and 
in  my  state  of  weakness  I  began  to  tremble,  backing  away  from 
the  orifice.  I  had  no  strength  in  my  limbs.  I  had  no  weapons. 
How  could  I  fight?  I  would  use  my  teeth.  With  a  light  knock- 
ing against  the  rock  above  the  arch,  Williams'  flask,  tied  by  its 
green  cord  to  the  end  of  a  thick  rope,  descended  slowly,  and  hung 
motionless  before  the  entrance. 

It  had  been  freshly  filled  with  water;  it  was  dripping  wet  out- 
side, and  the  silver  top,  struck  by  the  sunbeams,  dazzled  my  eyes. 

This  was  the  danger — this  bait.  And  it  seems  to  me  that  if  I 
had  had  the  slightest  inkling  of  what  was  coming,  I  should  have 
rushed  at  it  instantly.  But  it  took  me  some  time  to  understand — 
to  take  in  the  idea  that  this  was  water,  there,  within  reach  of  my 
hand.  With  a  great  effort  I  resisted  the  madness  that  incited  me 
to  hurl  myself  upon  the  flask.  I  hung  back  with  all  my  power. 
A  convulsive  spasm  contracted  my  throat.  I  turned  about  and 
fled  out  of  the  passage. 

I  ran  to  Seraphina.  "  Put  out  your  hand  to  me,"  I  panted  in 
the  darkness.     "  I  need  your  help." 

I  felt  it  resting  lightly  on  my  bowed  head.  She  did  not  even 
ask  me  what  I  meant;  as  if  the  greatness  of  her  soul  was 
omniscient.  There  was,  in  that  silence,  a  supreme  unselfishness, 
the  unquestioning  devotion  of  a  woman. 

"  Patience,  patience,"  I  kept  on  muttering.  I  was  losing  confi- 
dence in  myself.  If  only  I  had  been  free  to  dash  my  head  against 
the  rock.  I  had  the  courage  for  that,  yet.  But  this  was  a  situation 
from  which  there  was  no  issue  in  death. 

"  We  are  saved,"  I  murmured  distractedly. 

"  Patience,"  she  breathed  out.  Her  hand  slipped  languidly  off 
my  head. 

And  I  began  to  creep  away  from  her  side.     I  am  here  to  tell 


PART  FOURTH  323 

the  truth.  I  began  to  creep  away  towards  the  flask.  I  did  not 
confess  this  to  myself;  but  I  know  now.  There  was  a  devilish 
power  in  it.  I  have  learned  the  nature  of  feelings  in  a  man  whom 
Satan  beguiles  into  selling  his  soul — the  horror  of  an  irresistible 
and  fatal  longing  for  a  supreme  felicity.  And  in  a  drink  of  water 
for  me,  then,  there  was  a  greater  promise  than  in  universal  knowl- 
edge, in  unbounded  power,  in  unlimited  weath,  in  imperishable 
youth.  What  could  have  been  these  seductions  to  a  drink?  No 
soul  had  thirsted  after  things  unlawful  as  my  parched  throat 
thirsted  for  water.  No  devil  had  ever  tempted  a  man  with  such 
a  bribe  of  perdition. 

I  suffered  from  the  lucidity  of  my  feelings.  I  saw,  with  indig- 
nation, my  own  wretched  self  being  angled  for  like  a  fish.  And 
with  all  that,  in  my  forlorn  state,  I  remained  prudent.  I  did  not 
rush  out  blindly.  No.  I  approached  the  inner  end  of  the  passage, 
as  though  I  had  been  stalking  a  wild  creature,  slowly,  from  the 
side.  I  crept  along  the  wall  of  the  cavern,  and  protruded  my 
head  far  enough  to  look  at  the  fiendish  temptation. 

There  it  was,  a  small  dark  object  suspended  in  the  light,  with 
the  yellow  rock  across  the  ravine  for  a  background.  The  silver 
top  shivered  the  sunbeams  brilliantly.  I  had  half  hopes  they  had 
taken  it  away  by  this  time.  When  I  drew  my  head  back  I  lost 
sight  of  it,  but  all  my  being  went  out  to  it  with  an  almost  pitiful 
longing.  I  remembered  Castro  for  the  first  time  in  many  hours. 
Was  I  nothing  better  than  Castro?  He  had  been  angled  for  with 
salted  meat.    I  shuddered. 

A  darkness  fell  into  the  passage.  I  put  down  my  uplifted  foot 
without  advancing.  The  unexpectedness  of  that  shadow  saved  me, 
I  believe.    Manuel  had  descended  the  cornice. 

He  was  alone.  Standing  before  the  outer  opening,  he  darkened 
the  passage,  through  which  his  talk  to  the  people  above  came 
loudly  into  my  ears.  They  could  see,  now,  if  he  were  not  a 
worthy  Capataz.  If  the  Inglez  was  in  there  he  was  a  corpse. 
And  yet,  of  these  living  hearts  above,  of  these  valientes  of  Rio 
Medio,  there  was  not  one  who  would  go  alone  to  look  upon  a  dead 
body.  He  had  contrived  an  infallible  test,  and  yet  they  would  not 
believe  him.  Well,  his  valiance  should  prove  it;  his  valiance, 
afraid  neither  of  light  nor  of  darkness. 


324  ROMANCE 

I  could  not  hear  the  answers  he  got  from  up  there;  but  the 
vague  sounds  that  reached  me  carried  the  usual  commingling  of 
derision  and  applause,  the  resentment  of  their  jeers  at  the  ad- 
miration he  knew  how  to  extort  by  the  display  of  his  talents. 

They  must  kill  the  cattle,  these  caballeros.  He  scolded  iron- 
ically. Of  course.  They  must  feed  on  meat  like  lions;  but  their 
souls  were  like  the  souls  of  hens  born  on  dunghills.  And  behold ! 
there  was  he,  Manuel,  not  afraid  of  shadows. 

He  was  coming  In,  there  could  be  no  doubt.  Out  there  in  the 
full  light,  he  could  not  possibly  have  detected  that  rapid  appear- 
ance of  my  head  darted  forward  and  withdrawn  at  once;  but  I 
had  a  view  of  his  arm  putting  aside  the  swinging  flask,  of  his  leg 
raised  to  step  over  the  high  sill.  I  saw  him,  and  I  ran  noiselessly 
away  from  the  opening. 

I  had  the  time  to  charge  Seraphina  not  to  move,  on  our  lives, 
— on  the  wretched  remnant  of  our  lives — when  his  black  shape 
stood  in  the  frame  of  the  opening,  edged  with  a  thread  of  light 
following  the  contour  of  his  hat,  of  his  shoulders,  of  his  whole 
body  down  to  his  feet — whence  a  long  shadow  fell  upon  the  pool 
of  twilight  on  the  floor. 

What  had  made  him  come  down?  Vanity?  The  exacting  de- 
mands of  his  leadership?  Fear  of  O'Brien?  The  Juez  would 
expect  to  hear  something  definite,  and  his  band  pretended  not  to 
believe  in  the  stratagem  of  the  bottle.  I  think  that,  for  his  part, 
from  his  knowledge  of  humah  nature,  he  never  doubted  its  efficacy. 
He  could  not  guess  how  very  little,  only,  he  was  wrong.  How 
very  little !  And  yet  he  seemed  rooted  in  incertitude  on  the  thresh- 
old. His  head  turned  from  side  to  side.  I  could  not  make  out 
his  face  as  he  stood,  but  the  slightest  of  his  movements  did  not 
escape  me.  He  stepped  aside,  letting  in  all  the  fullness  of  the 
light. 

Would  he  have  the  courage  to  explore  at  least  the  immediate 
neighborhood  of  the  opening?  Who  could  tell  his  complex  mo- 
tives? Who  could  tell  his  purpose  or  his  fears?  He  had  killed 
a  man  in  there  once.  But,  then,  he  had  not  been  alone,  li  he 
were  only  showing  off  before  his  unruly  band,  he  need  not  stir  a 
step  further.  He  did  not  advance.  He  leaned  his  shoulders 
against  the  rock  just  clear  of  the  opening.     One  half  of  him  was 


PART  FOURTH  325 

lighted  plainly ;  his  long  profile,  part  of  his  raven  locks,  one  listless 
hand,  his  crossed  legs,  the  buckle  of  one  shoe. 

"  Nobody,"  he  pronounced  slowly,  in  a  dead  whisper. 

While  I  looked  at  him,  the  profound  politico,  the  artist,  the 
everlastingly  questioned  Capataz,  the  man  of  talent  and  ability, 
he  thought  himself  alone,  and  allowed  his  head  to  drop  on  his 
breast,  as  if  saddened  by  the  vanity  of  human  ambition.  Then, 
lifting  it  with  a  jerk,  he  listened  with  one  ear  turned  to  the  pas- 
sage; afterwards  he  peered  into  the  cavern.  Two  long  strides, 
over  the  cold  heap  of  ashes,  brought  hkn  to  the  stone  seat. 

It  was  very  plain  to  me  from  his  starting  movements  and 
attitudes,  that  he  shared  his  uneasy  attention  between  the  inside 
and  the  outside  of  the  cave.  He  sat  down,  but  seemed  ready  to 
jump  up;  and  I  saw  him  turn  his  eyes  upwards  to  the  dark  vault, 
as  if  on  the  alert  for  a  noise  from  above.  I  am  inclined  to  think 
he  was  expecting  to  hear  the  galloping  hoofs  of  the  peons'  horses 
every  moment.  I  think  he  did.  The  words  "  I  am  safer  here 
than  they  above,"  were  perfectly  audible  to  me  in  the  mumbling 
he  kept  up  nervously.  He  wished  to  hear  the  sound  of  his  own 
voice,  as  a  timid  person  whistles  and  talks  on  a  lonely  road  at 
night.  Only  the  year  before  he  had  killed  a  man  in  that  cavern, 
under  circumstances  that  were,  I  believe,  revolting  even  to  the 
honor  of  these  bandits.  He  sat  there  between  the  shadow  of  his 
murder  and  the  reality  of  the  vengeance.  I  asked  myself  what 
could  be  the  outcome  of  a  struggle  with  him.  He  was  armed; 
he  was  not  weakened  by  hunger ;  but  he  stood  between  us  and  the 
water.  My  thirst  would  give  me  strength;  the  desire  to  end 
Seraphina's  sufferings  would  make  me  invincible.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  was  dangerous  to  interfere.  I  could  not  tell  whether  they 
would  not  try  to  find  out  what  became  of  him.  It  was  safest 
to  let  him  go.  It  was  extremely  improbable  that  they  would  sail 
without  him. 

I  am  not  conscious  of  having  stirred  a  limb;  neither  had  Sera- 
phina  moved,  I  am  ready  to  swear;  but  plainly  something,  some 
sort  of  sound,  startled  him.  He  bounded  out  of  his  seated  immo- 
bility, and  in  one  leap  had  his  shoulders  against  the  rock  standing 
at  bay  before  the  darkness,  with  his  knife  in  his  hand.  I  wonder 
he  did  not  surprise  me  into  an  exclamation.     I  was  as  startled  as 


326  ROMANCE 

himself.  His  teeth  and  the  whites  of  his  eyes  gleamed  straight  at 
me  from  afar;  he  hissed  with  fear;  for  an  instant  I  was  firmly 
convinced  he  had  seen  me.  All  this  took  place  so  quickly  that  I 
had  no  time  to  make  one  movement  towards  receiving  his  attack, 
when  I  saw  him  make  a  great  sign  of  the  cross  in  the  air  with  the 
point  of  his  dagger. 

He  sheathed  it  slowly,  and  sidled  along  the  few  feet  to  the 
entrance,  his  shoulders  rubbing  the  wall.  He  blocked  out  the 
light,  and  in  a  moment  had  backed  out  of  sight. 

Before  he  got  to  the  further  end  I  was  already,  at  the  inner, 
creeping  after  him.  I  had  started  at  once,  as  if  his  disappearance 
had  removed  a  spell,  as  though  he  had  drawn  me  after  him  by  an 
invisible  bond.  Raising  myself  on  my  forearms  I  saw  him,  from 
his  knees  up,  standing  outside  the  sill,  with  his  back  to  the  preci- 
pice and  his  face  turned  up. 

"  There  is  nobody  in  there,"  he  shouted. 

I  sank  down  and  wriggled  forward  on  my  stomach,  raising  my- 
self on  my  elbows,  now  and  then,  to  look.  Manuel  was  looking 
upwards  conversing  with  the  people  above,  and  holding  Williams' 
flask  in  both  his  hands.  He  never  once  glanced  into  the  passage; 
he  seemed  to  be  trying  to  undo  the  cord  knotted  to  the  end  of  the 
thick  rope,  which  hung  in  a  long  bight  before  him.  The  flask 
captured  my  eyes,  my  thought,  my  energy.  I  would  tear  it  away 
from  him  directly.  There  was  in  me,  then,  neither  fear  nor  intel- 
ligence; only  the  desire  of  possessing  myself  of  the  thing;  but  an 
instinctive  caution  prevented  my  rushing  out  violently.  I  pro- 
ceeded with  an  animal-like  stealthiness,  with  which  cool  reason 
had  nothing  to  do. 

He  had  some  difficulty  with  the  knot,  and  evidently  did  not 
wish  to  cut  the  green  silk  cord.  How  well  I  remember  his 
fumbling  fingers.  He  sat  down  sideways  on  the  sill,  with  his 
legs  outside,  of  course,  his  face  and  hands  turned  to  the  light, 
very  absorbed  in  his  endeavor.  They  shouted  to  him  from 
above. 

"  I  come  at  once,"  he  cried  to  them,  without  lifting  his  head. 

I  had  crept  up  almost  near  enough  to  grab  the  flask.  It  never 
occurred  to  me  that  by  flinging  myself  on  him,  I  could  have  pushed 
him  off  the  sill.    My  only  idea  was  to  get  hold.    He  did  not  exist 


Atlowed  his  bead  to  drop  on  his  breast,  as  if  saddened  by  thi 
vanity  of  human  ambition 


PART  FOURTH  327 

for  me.  The  leather-covered  bottle  was  the  only  real  thing  in  the 
world.  I  was  completely  insane.  I  heard  a  faint  detonation,  and 
Manuel  got  up  quickly  from  the  sill.  The  flask  was  out  of  my 
reach. 

There  were  more  popping  sounds  of  shots  fired,  away  on  the 
plain.  The  peons  were  attacking  an  outpost  of  the  Lugarehos. 
A  deep  voice  cried,  "  They  are  driving  them  in."  Then  several 
together  yelled: 

"  Come  away,  Manuel.    Come  away.    For  Dios.   .   .   ." 

Stretched  at  full  length  in  the  passage,  and  sustaining  myself 
on  my  trembling  arms,  I  gazed  up  at  him.  He  stood  very  rigid, 
holding  the  flask  in  both  hands.  Several  muskets  were  discharged 
together  just  above,  and  in  the  noise  of  the  reports  I  remember 
a  voice  crying  urgently  over  the  edge,  "Manuel!  Manuel!" 
The  shadow  of  irresolution  passed  over  his  features.  He  hesitated 
whether  to  run  up  the  ledge  or  bolt  into  the  cave.  He  shouted 
something.  He  was  not  answered,  but  the  yelling  and  the  firing 
ceased  suddenly,  as  if  the  Lugarenos  had  given  up  and  taken  to 
their  heels.  I  became  aware  of  a  sort  of  increasing  throbbing  sound 
that  seemed  to  come  from  behind  me,  out  of  the  cave;  then,  as 
Manuel  lifted  his  foot  hastily  to  step  over  the  sill,  I  jumped  up 
deliriously,  and  with  outstretched  hands  lurched  forward  at  the 
flask  in  his  fingers. 

I  believe  I  laughed  at  him  in  an  imbecile  manner.  Somebody 
laughed ;  and  I  remember  the  superior  smile  on  his  face  passing 
into  a  ghastly  grin,  that  disappeared  slowly,  while  his  astonished 
eyes,  glaring  at  that  gaunt  and  disheveled  apparition  rising  before 
him  in  the  dusk  of  the  passage,  seemed  to  grow  to  an  enormous 
size.  He  drew  back  his  foot,  as  though  it  had  been  burnt;  and  in 
a  panic-stricken  impulse,  he  flung  the  flask  straight  into  my  face, 
and  staggered  away  from  the  sill. 

I  made  a  catch  of  it  with  a  scream  of  triumph,  whose  unearthly 
sound  brought  me  back  to  my  senses. 

"  In  the  name  of  God,  retire,"  he  cried,  as  though  I  had  been 
an  apparition  from  another  world. 

What  took  place  afterwards  happened  with  an  inconceivable 
rapidity,  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  draw  breath.  He  never 
recognized  me.     I  saw  his  glare  of  incredulous  awe  change,  sud- 


328  ROMANCE 

denly,  to  horror  and  despair.  He  had  felt  himself  losing  his 
balance. 

He  had  stepped  too  far  back.  He  tried  to  recover  himself,  but 
it  was  too  late.  He  hung  for  a  moment  in  his  backward  fall ;  his 
arms  beat  the  air,  his  body  curled  upon  itself  with  an  awful  striv- 
ing. All  at  once  he  went  limp  all  over,  and,  with  the  sunlight 
full  upon  his  upturned  face,  vanished  downwards  from  my  sight. 

But  at  the  last  moment  he  managed  to  clutch  the  bight  of  the 
hanging  rope.  The  end  of  it  must  have  been  lying  quite  loose  on 
the  ground  above,  for  I  saw  its  whole  length  go  whizzing  after 
him,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  I  pressed  the  flask  fiercely  to  my 
breast,  raging  with  the  thought  that  he  could  yet  tear  it  out  of 
my  hands;  but  by  the  time  the  strain  came,  his  falling  body  had 
acquired  such  a  velocity  that  I  didn't  feel  the  slightest  jerk  when 
the  green  cord  snapped — no  more  than  if  it  had  been  the  thread 
of  a  cobweb. 

I  confess  that  tears,  tears  of  gratitude,  were  running  down  my 
face.  My  limbs  trembled.  But  I  was  sane  enough  not  to  think 
of  myself  any  more. 

"  Drink !  Drink,"  I  stammered,  raising  Seraphina's  head  on 
my  shoulder,  while  the  galloping  horses  of  the  peons  in  hot  pursuit 
passed  with  a  thundering  rumble  above  us.    Then  all  was  still. 

Our  getting  out  of  the  cave  was  a  matter  of  unremitting  toil, 
through  what  might  have  been  a  year  of  time;  the  recollection  is 
of  an  arduous  undertaking,  accomplished  without  the  usual  in- 
centives of  men's  activity.  Necessity,  alone,  remained;  the  iron 
necessity  without  the  glamour  of  freedom  of  choice,  of  pride. 

Our  unsteady  feet  crushed,  at  last,  the  black  embers  of  the  fires 
scattered  by  the  hoofs  of  horses;  and  the  plain  appeared  immense 
to  our  weakness,  swept  of  shadows  by  the  high  sun,  lonely  and 
desolate  as  the  sea.  We  looked  at  the  litter  of  the  Lugarehos' 
camp,  rags  on  the  trodden  grass,  a  couple  of  abandoned  blankets,  a 
musket  thrown  away  in  the  panic,  a  dirty  red  sash  lying  on  a  heap 
of  sticks,  a  wooden  bucket  from  the  schooner,  smashed  water- 
gourds.  One  of  them  remained  miraculously  poised  on  its  round 
bottom  and  full  to  the  brim,  while  everything  else  seemed  to  have 
been  overturned,  torn,  scattered  haphazard  by  a  furious  gust  of 
wind.    A  scaffolding  of  poles,  for  drying  strips  of  meat,  had  been 


PART  FOURTH  329 

knocked  over;  I  found  nothing  there  except  bits  of  hairy  hide; 
but  lumps  of  scorched  flesh  adhered  to  the  white  bones  scattered 
amongst  the  ashes  of  the  camp — and  I  thanked  God  for  them. 

We  averted  our  eyes  from  our  faces  in  very  love,  and  we  did 
not  speak  from_  pity  for  each  other.  There  was  no  joy  in  our 
escape,  no  relief,  no  sense  of  freedom.  The  Lugarenos  and  the 
peons,  the  pursued  and  the  pursuers,  had  disappeared  from  the 
upland  without  leaving  as  much  as  a  corpse  in  view.  There  were 
no  moving  things  on  the  earth,  no  bird  soared  in  the  pellucid  air, 
not  even  a  moving  cloud  on  the  sky.  The  sun  declined,  and  the 
rolling  expanse  of  the  plain  frightened  us,  as  if  space  had  been 
something  alive  and  hostile. 

We  walked  away  from  that  spot,  as  if  our  feet  had  been  shod  In 
lead;  and  we  hugged  the  edge  of  the  cruel  ravine,  as  one  keeps 
by  the  side  of  a  frierwl.  We  must  have  been  grotesque,  pathetic, 
and-  lonely ;  like  two  people  newly  arisen  from  a  tomb,  shrinking 
before  the  strangeness  of  the  half -for  gotten  face  of  the  world. 
And  at  the  head  of  the  ravine  we  stopped. 

The  sensation  of  light,  vastness,  and  solitude  rolled  upon  our 
souls  emerging  from  the  darkness,  overwhelmingly,  like  a  wave 
of  the  sea.  We  might  have  been  an  only  couple  sent  back  from  the 
underworld  to  begin  another  cycle  of  pain  on  a  depopulated  earth. 
It  had  not  for  us  even  the  fitful  caress  of  a  breeze;  and  the  only 
sound  of  greeting  was  the  angry  babble  of  the  brook  dashing 
down  the  stony  slope  at  our  feet. 

We  knelt  over  it  to  drink  deeply  and  bathe  our  faces.  Then, 
looking  about  helplessly,  I  discovered  afar  the  belt  of  the  sea 
inclosed  between  the  undulating  lines  of  the  dunes  and  the  straight 
edge  of  the  horizon.  I  pointed  my  arm  at  the  white  sails  of  the 
schooner  creeping  from  under  the  land,  and  Seraphina,  resting  her 
head  on  my  shoulder,  shuddered. 

"  Let  us  go  away  from  here." 

Our  necessity  pointed  down  the  slope.  We  could  not  think 
of  another  way,  and  the  extent  of  the  plain  with  its  boundary 
of  forests  filled  us  with  the  dread  of  things  unknown.  But,  by 
getting  down  to  the  inlet  of  the  sea,  and  following  the  bank  of 
the  little  river,  we  were  sure  to  reach  the  hacienda,  if  only  a  hope 
could  buoy  our  sinking  hearts  long  enough. 


330  ROMANCE 

From  our  first  step  downwards  the  hard,  rattling  noise  of  the 
stones  accompanied  our  descent,  growing  in  volume,  bewildering 
our  minds.  We  had  missed  the  indistinct  beginning  of  the  trail 
on  the  side  of  the  ravine,  and  had  to  follow  the  course  of  the 
stream.  A  grovi^th  of  why  bushes  sprang  thickly  between  the 
large  fragments  of  fallen  rocks.  On  our  right  the  shadows  were 
beginning  to  steal  into  the  chasm.  Towering  on  our  left  the  great 
stratified  wall  caught  at  the  top  of  the  glow  of  the  low  sun  in  a 
rich,  tawny  tint,  right  under  the  dark  blue  strip  of  sky,  that  seemed 
to  reflect  the  gloom  of  the  ravine,  the  sepulchral  arid  gloom  of 
deep  shadows  and  gray  rocks,  through  which  the  shallow  torrent 
dashed  violently  with  glassy  gleams  between  the  somber  masses 
of  vegetation. 

We  pushed  on  through  the  bunches  of  tough  twigs;  the 
massive  bowlders  closed  the  view  on  every  side ;  and  Seraphina 
followed  me  with  her  hands  on  my  shoulders.  This  was  the  best 
way  in  which  I  could  help  her  descent  till  the  declivity  became 
less  steep;  and  then  I  went  ahead,  forcing  a  path  for  her.  Often 
we  had  to  walk  into  the  bed  of  the  stream.  It  was  icy  cold.  Some 
strange  beast,  perhaps  a  bird,  invisible  somewhere,  emitted  from 
time  to  time  a  faint  and  lamentable  shriek.  It  was  a  wild  scene, 
and  the  orifice  of  the  cave  appeared  as  an  inaccessible  black  hole 
some  ninety  feet  above  our  heads. 

Then,  as  I  stepped  round  a  large  fragment  of  rock,  my  eyes  fell 
on  Manuel's  body. 

Seraphina  was  behind  me.  With  a  wave  of  my  hand  I  arrested 
her.  It  had  not  occurred  to  me  before  that,  following  the  bottom 
of  the  ravine,  we  must  come  upon  the  two  bodies.  Castro's  was 
lower  down,  of  course.  I  would  have  spared  her  the  sight,  but 
there  was  no  retracing  our  steps.  We  had  no  strength  and  no 
time.  Manuel  was  lying  on  his  back  with  his  hands  under  him, 
and  his  feet  nearly  in  the  brook. 

The  lower  portion  of  the  rope  made  a  heap  of  cordage  on  the 
ground  near  him,  but  a  great  length  of  it  hung  perpendicularly 
above  his  head.  The  loose  end  he  had  snatched  over  the  edge  in 
his  fall  had  whipped  itself  tight  round  the  stem  of  a  dwarf  tree 
growing  in  a  crevice  high  up  the  rock;  and  as  he  fell  below,  the 
jerk  must  have  checked  his  descent,  and  had  prevented  him  from 


PART  FOURTH  331 

alighting  on  his  head.  There  was  not  a  sign  of  blood  anjnvhere 
upon  him  or  on  the  stones.  His  eyes  were  shut.  He  might  have 
lain  down  to  sleep  there,  in  our  way;  only  from  the  slightly  un- 
natural twist  in  the  position  of  his  arms  and  legs,  I  saw,  at  a 
glance,  that  all  his  limbs  were  broken. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  bowlder  Seraphina  called  to  me,  and 
I  could  not  answer  her,  so  great  was  the  shock  I  received  in  seeing 
the  flutter  of  his  slowly  opening  eyelids. 

He  still  lived,  then!  He  looked  at  me!  It  was  an  awful  dis- 
covery to  make ;  and  the  contrast  of  his  anxious  and  feverish  stare 
with  the  collapsed  posture  of  his  body  was  full  of  intolerable 
suggestions  of  fate  blundering  unlawfully,  of  death  itself  being 
conquered  by  pain.  I  looked  away  only  to  perceive  something 
pitiless,  belittling,  and  cruel  in  the  precipitous  immobility  of  the 
sheer  walls,  in  the  dark  funereal  green  of  the  foliage,  in  the  falling 
shadows,  in  the  remoteness  of  the  sky. 

The  unconsciousness  of  matter  hinted  at  a  weird  and  mysterious 
antagonism.  All  the  inanimate  things  seemed  to  have  conspired  to 
throw  in  our  way  this  man  just  enough  alive  to  feel  pain.  The 
faint  and  lamentable  sounds  we  had  heard  must  have  come  from 
him.  He  was  looking  at  me.  It  was  impossible  to  say  whether 
he  saw  anything  at  all.  He  barred  our  road  with  his  remnant 
of  life;  but,  when  suddenly  he  spoke,  my  heart  stood  still  for  a 
moment  in  my  motionless  body. 

"You,  too!"  he  droned  awfully.  "Behold!  I  have  been 
precipitated,  alive,  into  this  hell  by  another  ghost.  Nothing  else 
could  have  overcome  the  greatness  of  my  spirit." 

His  red  shirt  was  torn  open  at  the  throat.  His  bared  breast 
began  to  heave.  He  cried  out  with  pain.  Ready  to  fly  from  him 
myself,  I  shouted  to  Seraphina  to  keep  away. 

But  it  was  too  late.  Imagining  I  had  seen  some  new  danger 
in  our  path,  she  had  advanced  to  stand  by  my  side. 

"  He  is  dying,"  I  muttered  in  distraction.  "  We  can  do 
nothing." 

But  could  we  pass  him  by  before  he  died? 

"  This  is  terrible,"  said  Seraphina. 

My  real  hope  had  been  that,  after  driving  the  Lugarenos  away, 
the  peons  would  off-saddle  near  the  little  river  to  rest  themselves 


332  ROMANCE 

and  their  horses.  This  is  why  I  had  almost  pitilessly  hurried 
Seraphina,  after  we  had  left  the  cave,  down  the  steep,  but  short 
descent  of  the  ravine.  I  had  kept  to  mj'self  my  despairing  con- 
viction that  we  could  never  reach  the  liacienda  unaided,  even  if  we 
had  known  the  way.  I  had  pretended  confidence  in  ourselves,  but 
all  my  trust  was  in  the  assistance  I  expected  to  get  from  these 
men.  I  understood  so  well  the  slenderness  of  that  hope  that  I 
had  not  dared  to  mention  it  to  her  and  to  propose  she  should  wait 
for  me  on  the  upland,  while  I  went  down  by  myself  on  that  quest. 
I  could  not  bear  the  fear  of  returning  unsuccessful  only  to  find 
her  dead.  That  is,  if  I  had  the  strength  to  return  after  such  a 
disappointment.  And  the  idea  of  her,  waiting  for  me  in  vain,  then 
wandering  off,  perhaps  to  fall  under  a  bush  and  die  alone,  was 
too  appalling  to  contemplate.  That  we  must  keep  together,  at  all 
costs,  was  like  a  point  of  honor,  like  an  article  of  faith  with  us — 
confirmed  by  what  we  had  gone  through  already.  It  was  like  a 
law  of  existence,  like  a  creed,  like  a  defense  which,  once  broken, 
would  let  despair  upon  our  heads.  I  am  sure  she  would  not  have 
consented  to  even  a  temporary  separation.  She  had  a  sort  of 
superstitious  feeling  that,  should  we  be  forced  apart,  even  to  the 
manifest  saving  of  our  lives,  w^e  would  lay  ourselves  open  to  some 
calamity  worse  than  mere  death  could  be. 

I  loved  her  enough  to  share  that  feeling,  but  with  the  addition 
of  a  man's  half-unconscious  selfishness.  I  needed  her  indomitable 
frailness  to  prop  my  grosser  strength.  I  needed  that  something 
not  wholly  of  this  world,  which  women's  more  exalted  nature 
Infuses  into  their  passions.  Into  their  sorrows,  into  their  joys ;  as  If 
their  adventurous  souls  had  the  power  to  range  beyond  the  orbit 
of  the  earth  for  the  gathering  of  their  love,  their  hate — and  their 
charity. 

"  He  calls  for  death,"  she  said,  shrinking  with  horror  and  pity 
before  the  mutters  of  the  miserable  man  at  our  feet.  Every  mo- 
ment of  daylight  was  of  the  utmost  importance.  If  we  were  to 
save  our  freedom,  our  happiness,  our  very  lives;  and  we  remained 
rooted  to  the  spot.  For  It  seemed  as  though,  at  last,  he  had 
attained  the  end  of  his  enterprise.  He  had  captured  us,  as  if  by 
a  very  cruel  stratagem. 

A  drowsiness  would  come  at  time  over  those  big  open  eyes,  like 


PART  FOURTH  333 

a  film  through  which  a  blazing  glance  would  break  out  now  and 
then.  He  had  recognized  us  perfectly ;  but,  for  the  most  part,  we 
seemed  to  him  to  be  the  haunting  ghosts  of  his  inferno. 

"  You  came  from  heaven,"  he  raved  feebly,  rolling  his  straining 
eyes  towards  Seraphina.  His  internal  injuries  must  have  been 
frightful.  Perhaps  he  dared  not  shift  his  head — the  only  move- 
ment that  was  in  his  power.  "  I  reached  up  to  the  very  angels 
in  the  inspiration  of  my  song,"  he  droned,  "  and  would  be  called 
a  demon  on  earth.  Manuel  el  Demonio.  And  now  precipitated 
alive.  .  .  .  Nothing  less.  There  is  a  greatness  in  me.  Let  some 
dew  fall  upon  my  lips." 

He  moaned  from  the  very  bottom  of  his  heart.  His  teeth 
chattered. 

"  The  blessed  may  not  know  anything  of  the  cold  and  thirst  of 
this  place.  A  drop  of  dew — as  on  earth  you  used  to  throw  alms  to 
the  poor  from  your  coach — for  the  love  of  God." 

She  sank  on  the  stones  nearer  to  him  than  I  would  willingly 
have  done,  brave  as  a  woman,  only,  can  be  before  the  atrocious 
depths  of  human  misery.  I  leaned  my  shoulders  against  the 
bowlder  and  crossed  my  arms  on  my  breast,  as  if  giving  up  an 
unequal  struggle.  Her  hair  was  loose,  her  dress  stained  with 
ashes,  torn  by  brambles ;  the  darkness  of  the  cavern  seemed  to 
linger  in  her  hollow  cheeks,  in  her  sunken  temples. 

"  He  is  thirsty,"  she  murmured  to  me. 

"  Yes,"  I  said. 

She  tore  off  a  strip  of  her  dress,  dipped  it  in  the  running  water 
at  her  side,  and  approached  it,  all  dripping,  to  his  lips  which  closed 
upon  it  with  avidity.  The  walls  of  the  rock  looked  on  implacably, 
but  the  rushing  stream  seemed  to  hurry  away,  as  if  from  an  ac- 
cursed spot. 

"  Dew  from  heaven,"  he  sighed  out. 

"  You  are  on  earth,  Manuel,"  she  said.  "  You  are  given  time 
to  repent.     This  is  earth." 

"  Impossible,"  he  muttered  with  difficulty. 

He  had  forced  his  human  fellowship  upon  us,  this  man  whose 
ambition  it  had  been  to  be  called  demon  on  the  earth.  He  held 
us  by  the  humanity  of  his  broken  frame,  by  his  human  glance,  by 
his  human  voice.     I  wonder  if,  had  I  been  alone,  I  would  have 


334  ROMANCE 

passed  on  as  reason  dictated,  or  have  had  the  courage  of  pity  and 
finished  him  off,  as  he  demanded.  Whenever  he  became  aware 
of  our  presence,  he  addressed  me  as  "  Thou,  English  ghost,"  and 
directed  me,  in  a  commanding  voice,  to  take  a  stone  and  crush  his 
head,  before  I  went  back  to  my  own  torments.  I  withdrew,  at 
last,  where  he  could  not  see  me;  but  Seraphina  never  flinched  in 
her  task  of  moistening  his  lips  with  the  strip  of  cloth  she 
dipped  in  the  brook,  time  after  time,  with  a  sublime  perseverance 
of  compassion. 

It  made  me  silent.  Could  I  have  stood  there  and  recited  the 
sinister  detail  of  that  man's  crimes,  in  the  hope  that  she  would 
recoil  from  him  to  pursue  the  road  of  safety?  It  was  not  his  evil, 
but  his  suffering  that  confronted  us  now.  The  sense  of  our  kin- 
ship emerged  out  of  it  like  a  fresh  horror  after  we  had  escaped 
the  sea,  the  tempest ;  after  we  had  resisted  untold  fatigues,  hunger, 
thirst,  despair.  We  were  vanquished  by  what  was  in  us,  not  in 
him.  I  could  say  nothing.  The  light  ebbed  out  of  the  ravine. 
The  sky,  like  a  thin  blue  veil  stretched  between  the  earth  and  the 
spaces  of  the  universe,  filtered  the  gloom  of  the  darkness  beyond. 

I  thought  of  the  invisible  sun  ready  to  set  into  the  sea,  of  the 
peons  riding  away,  and  of  our  helpless,  hopeless  state. 

"  For  the  love  of  God,"  he  mumbled. 

"  Yes,  for  the  love  of  God,"  I  heard  her  expressionless  voice 
repeat.  And  then  there  was  only  the  greedy  sound  of  his  lips 
sucking  at  the  cloth,  and  the  impatient  ripple  of  the  stream. 

"  Come,  death,"  he  sighed. 

Yes,  come,  I  thought,  to  release  him  and  to  set  us  free.  All 
my  prayer,  now,  was  that  we  should  be  granted  the  strength  to 
struggle  from  under  the  malignant  frown  of  these  crags,  to  close 
our  eyes  forever  in  the  open. 

And  the  truth  is  that,  had  we  gone  on,  we  should  have  found 
no  one  by  the  sea.  The  routed  Lugarenos  had  been  able  to  embark 
under  cover  of  a  fusillade  from  those  on  board  the  schooner.  All 
that  would  have  met  our  despair,  at  the  end  oi  our  toilsome  march, 
would  have  been  three  dead  pirates  lying  on  the  sand.  The  main 
body  of  the  peons  had  gone,  already,  up  the  valley  of  the  river 
with  their  few  wounded.  There  would  have  been  nothing  for 
us  to  do  but  to  stumble  on  and  on  upon  their  track,  till  we  lay 


PART  FOURTH  335 

down  never  to  rise  again.  They  did  not  draw  rein  once,  bet\\'een 
the  sea  and  the  hacienda,  sixteen  miles  away. 

About  the  time  when  we  began  our  descent  into  the  ravine,  two 
of  the  peons,  detached  from  the  main  body  for  the  purpose  of 
observing  the  schooner  from  the  upland,  had  topped  the  edge  of 
the  plain.  We  had  then  penetrated  into  Manuel's  inferno,  too 
deep  to  be  seen  by  them.  These  men  spent  some  time  lying  on 
the  grass,  and  watching  over  the  dunes  the  course  of  the  schooner 
on  the  open  sea.  Their  horses  were  grazing  near  them.  The 
wind  was  light ;  they  waited  to  see  the  vessel  far  enough  down  the 
coast  to  make  any  intention  of  return  improbable. 

It  was  Manuel  who  saved  our  lives,  defeating  his  own  aim  to 
the  bitter  end.  Had  not  his  vanity,  policy,  or  the  necessity  of  his 
artistic  soul,  induced  him  to  enter  the  cave;  had  not  his  cowardice 
prevented  him  joining  the  Lugarenos  above,  at  the  moment  of  the 
attack;  had  he  not  recoiled  violently  in  a  superstitious  fear  before 
my  apparition  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave — we  should  have  been 
released  from  our  entombment,  only  to  look  once  more  at  the  sun. 
He  paid  the  price  of  our  ransom,  to  the  uttermost  farthing,  in  his 
lingering  death.  Had  he  killed  himself  on  the  spot,  he  would 
have  taken  our  only  slender  chance  with  him  into  that  nether 
world  where  he  imagined  himself  to  have  been  "  precipitated 
alive."  Finding  him  dead,  we  should  have  gone  on.  Less  than 
ten  minutes,  no  more  than  another  ten  paces  beyond  the  spot,  we 
should  have  been  hidden  from  sight  in  the  thickets  of  denser 
growth  in  the  lower  part  of  the  ravine.  I  doubt  whether  we 
should  have  been  able  to  get  through ;  but,  even  so,  we  should  have 
been  going  away  from  the  only  help  within  our  reach.  We  should 
have  been  lost. 

The  two  vaqueros,  after  seeing  the  schooner  hull  down  under 
the  low,  fiery  sun  of  the  west,  mounted  and  rode  home  over  the 
plain,  making  for  the  head  of  the  ravine,  as  their  way  lay.  And, 
as  they  cantered  along  the  side  opposite  to  the  cave,  one  of  them 
caught  sight  of  the  length  of  rope  dangling  down  the  precipice. 
They  pulled  up  at  once. 

The  first  I  knew  of  their  nearness  was  the  snorting  of  a  horse 
forced  towards  the  edge  of  the  chasm.  I  saw  the  animal's  fore- 
legs planted  tensely  on  the  very  brink,  and  the  body  of  the  rider 


336  ROMANCE 

leaning  over  his  neck  to  look  down.    And,  when  I  wished  to  shoutj 
I  found  I  could  not  produce  the  slightest  sound. 

The  man,  rising  in  his  stirrups,  the  reins  in  one  hand  and  turn- 
ing up  the  brim  of  his  sombrero  with  the  other,  peered  down  at 
us  over  the  pricked  ears  of  his  horse.  I  pointed  over  my  head 
at  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  then  down  at  Seraphina,  lifting  my 
hands  to  show  that  I  was  unarmed.  I  opened  my  lips  wide. 
Surprise,  agitation,  weakness,  had  robbed  me  of  every  vestige  of 
my  voice.  I  beckoned  dow^nwards  with  a  desperate  energy. 
Horse  and  rider  remained  perfectly  still,  like  an  equestrian  statue 
set  up  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice.  Seraphina  had  never  raised  her 
head. 

The  man's  intent  scrutiny  could  not  have  mistaken  me  for  a 
Lugareho.  I  think  he  gazed  so  long  because  he  was  amazed  to 
discover  down  there  a  woman  on  her  knees,  stooping  over  a  pros- 
trate body,  and  a  bare-headed  man  in  a  ragged  white  shirt  and 
black  breeches,  reeling  between  the  bushes  and  gesticulating  vio- 
lently, like  an  excited  mute.  But  how  a  rope  came  to  hang  down 
from  a  tree,  growing  in  a  position  so  inaccessible  that  only  a  bird 
could  have  attached  it  there  struck  him  as  the  most  mysterious 
thing  of  all.  He  pointed  his  finger  at  it  interrogatively,  and 
I  answered  this  inquiring  sign  by  indicating  the  stony  slope  of 
the  ravine.  It  seemed  as  if  he  could  not  speak  for  wonder. 
After  a  while  he  sat  back  in  his  saddle,  gave  me  an  encourag- 
ing wave  of  the  hand,  and  wheeled  his  horse  away  from  the 
brink. 

It  was  as  if  we  had  been  casting  a  spell  of  extinction  on  each 
other's  voices.  No  sooner  had  he  disappeared,  than  I  found  mine. 
I  do  not  suppose  it  was  very  loud  but,  at  my  aimless  screech,  Sera- 
phina looked  upwards  on  every  side,  saw  no  one  anywhere,  and 
remained  on  her  knees  with  her  eyes,  full  of  apprehension,  fixed 
upon  me. 

"No!  I  am  not  mad,  dearest,"  I  said.  "There  w^as  a  man. 
He  has  seen  us." 

"  Oh,  Juan !  "  she  faltered  out,  "  pray  with  me  that  God  may 
have  mercy  on  this  poor  wretch  and  let  him  die." 

I  said  nothing.  My  thin,  quavering  scream  after  the  peon  had 
awakened  Manuel  from  his  delirious  dream  of  an  inferno.     The 


PART  FOURTH  337 

voice  that  issued  from  his  shattered  body  was  awfully  measured, 
hollow,  and  profound. 

"You  live!  "  he  uttered  slowly,  turning  his  eyes  full  upon  my 
face,  and,  as  if  perceiving  for  the  first  time  in  me  the  appearance  oi 
a  living  man.     "  Ha!    You  English  walk  the  earth  unscathed." 

A  feeling  of  pity  came  to  me — a  pity  distinct  from  the  harrow- 
ing sensations  of  his  miserable  end.  He  had  been  evil  in  the  ob- 
scurity of  his  life,  as  there  are  plants  growing  harmful  and  deadly 
in  the  shade,  drawing  poison  from  the  dank  soil  on  which  they 
flourish.  He  was  as  unconscious  of  his  evil  as  they — but  he  had  a 
man's  right  to  my  pity. 

"  I  am  b — roken,"  he  stammered  out. 

Seraphina  kept  on  moistening  his  lips. 

"  Repent,  Manuel,"  she  entreated  fervently.  "  We  have  for- 
given thee  the  evil  done  to  us.  Repent  of  thy  crimes — poor 
man." 

"Your  voice,  senorita.  What?  You!  You  yourself  bringing 
this  blessing  to  my  lips!  In  your  childhood  I  had  cried  'viva' 
many  times  before  your  coach.  And  now  you  deign — in  your 
voice — with  your  hand.  Ha!  I  could  improvise — The  star 
stoops  to  the  crushed  worm.    .    .    ." 

A  rising  clatter  of  rolling  stones  mingled  from  afar  with  the 
broken  moanings  of  his  voice.  Looking  over  my  shoulder,  I  saw 
one  peon  beginning  the  descent  of  the  slope,  and,  higher  up,  mo- 
tionless between  the  heads  of  two  horses,  the  head  of  another 
man — with  the  purple  tint  of  an  enlarged  sky  beyond,  reflecting 
the  glow  of  an  invisible  sun  setting  into  the  sea. 

Manuel  cried  out  piercingly,  and  we  shuddered.  Seraphina 
shrank  close  to  my  side,  hiding  her  head  on  my  breast.  The  peon 
staggered  awkwardly  down  the  slope,  descending  sideways  in 
small  steps,  embarrassed  by  the  enormous  rowels  of  his  spurs.  He 
had  a  striped  serape  over  his  shoulder,  and  grasped  a  broad-bladed 
machete  in  his  right  hand.  His  stumbling,  cautious  feet  sent  into 
the  ravine  a  crashing  sound,  as  though  we  were  to  be  buried  under 
a  stream  of  stones. 

"  Vuestra  senoria,"  gasped  Manuel.  "  I  shall  be  silent.  Pity 
me!  Do  not — do  not  withdraw  your  hand  from  my  extreme 
pain." 


338  ROMANCE 

I  felt  she  had  to  summon  all  her  courage  to  look  at  him  again. 
She  disengaged  herself,  resolutely,  from  my  enfolding  arms. 

"  No,  no ;  unfortunate  man,"  she  said,  in  a  benumbed  voice. 
"  Think  of  thy  end." 

"  A  crushed  worm,  senorita,"  he  mumbled. 

The  peon,  having  reached  the  bottom  of  the  slope,  became  lost 
to  view  amongst  the  bushes  and  the  great  fragments  of  rocks 
below.  Every  sound  in  the  ravine  was  hushed ;  and  the  darkening 
sky  seemed  to  cast  the  shadow  of  an  everlasting  night  into  the 
eyes  of  the  dying  man. 

Then  the  peon  came  out,  pushing  through,  in  a  great  swish  of 
parted  bushes.  His  spurs  jingled  at  every  step,  his  footfalls 
crunched  heavily  on  the  pebbles.  He  stopped,  as  if  transfixed, 
muttering  his  astonishment  to  himself,  but  asking  no  questions. 
He  was  a  young  man  with  a  thin  black  mustache  twisted  gal- 
lantly to  two  little  points.  He  looked  up  at  the  sheer  wall  of  the 
precipice;  he  looked  down  at  the  group  we  formed  at  his  feet. 
Suddenly,  as  if  returning  from  an  abyss  of  pain,  Manuel  declared 
distinctly : 

"  I  feel  in  me  a  greatness,  an  inspiration.   ..." 

These  were  his  last  words.  The  heavy  dark  lashes  descended 
slowly  upon  the  faint  gleam  of  the  eyeballs,  like  a  lowered  curtain. 
The  deep  folds  of  the  ravine  gathered  the  falling  dusk  into  great 
pools  of  absolute  blackness,  at  the  foot  of  the  crags. 

Rising  high  above  our  littleness,  that  watched,  fascinated,  the 
struggle  of  lights  and  shadows  over  the  soul  entangled  in  the 
wreck  of  a  man's  body,  the  rocks  had  a  monumental  indifference. 
And  between  their  great,  stony  faces,  turning  pale  in  the  gloom, 
with  the  amazed  peon  as  if  standing  guard,  machete  in  hand, 
Manuel's  greatness  and  his  inspiration  passed  away  without  as 
much  as  an  exhaled  sigh.  I  did  not  even  know  that  he  had  ceased 
to  breathe,  till  Seraphina  rose  from  her  knees  with  a  low  cry,  and 
flung  far  away  from  her,  nervously,  the  strip  of  cloth  upon  which 
his  parted  lips  had  refused  to  close. 

My  arms  were  ready  to  receive  her.  "Ah!  At  last!"  she 
cried.  There  was  something  resentful  and  fierce  in  that  cry,  as 
though  the  pity  of  her  woman's  heart  had  been  put  to  too  cruel 
a  test. 


PART  FOURTH  339 

I,  too,  had  been  humane  to  that  man.  I  had  had  his  life  on  the 
end  of  my  pistol,  and  had  spared  him  from  an  impulse  that  had 
done  nothing  but  withhold  from  him  the  mercy  of  a  speedy  death. 
This  had  been  my  pity. 

But  it  was  Seraphina's  cry — -this  "  At  last,"  showing  the  stress 
and  pain  of  the  ordeal — that  shook  my  faith  in  my  conduct.  It 
had  brought  upon  our  heads  a  retribution  of  mental  and  bodily 
anguish,  like  a  criminal  weakness.  I  was  young,  and  my  belief 
in  the  justice  of  life  had  received  a  shock.  If  it  were  impossible 
to  foretell  the  consequences  of  our  acts,  if  there  was  no  safety  in 
the  motives  within  ourselves,  what  remained  for  our  guidance? 

And  the  inscrutable  immobility  of  towering  forms,  steeped  in 
the  shadows  of  the  chasm,  appeared  pregnant  with  a  dreadful 
wisdom.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  would  never  have  the  courage 
to  lift  my  hand,  open  my  lips,  make  a  step,  obey  a  thought.  A 
long  sun-ray  shot  to  the  zenith  from  the  beclouded  west,  crossing 
obliquely  in  a  faint  red  bar  the  purple  band  of  sky  above  the  ravine. 

The  young  vaquero  had  taken  off  his  hat  before  the  might  of 
death,  and  made  a  perfunctory  sign  of  the  cross.  He  looked 
up  and  down  the  lofty  wall,  as  if  it  could  give  him  the  word 
of  that  riddle.  Twice  his  spurs  clashed  softly,  and,  with  one 
hand  grasping  the  rope,  he  stooped  low  in  the  twilight  over  the 
body. 

"  We  looked  for  this  Lugareno''  he  said,  replacing  his  hat  on 
his  head  carelessly.  "  He  was  a  mad  singer,  and  I  saw  him  once 
kill  one  of  us  very  swiftly.  They  used  to  call  him  in  jest,  El 
Demonio.    Ah!     But  you  .  .  .     But  you.  .  .  ." 

His  wonder  overcame  him.  His  bewildered  eyes  glimmered, 
staring  at  us  in  the  deepening  dusk. 

"  Speak,  hombre,"  he  cried.  "  Who  are  you  and  who  is 
she?  Whence  came  you?  Where  are  you  going  with  this 
woman?  .  .   ." 


CHAPTER  XI 

NOT  a  soul  stirred  in  the  one  long  street  of  the  negro 
village.  The  yellow  crescent  of  the  diminished  moon 
swam  low  in  the  pearly  light  of  the  dawn ;  and  the 
bamboo  walls  of  huts,  thatched  with  palm  leaves,  glistened  here 
and  there  through  the  great  leaves  of  bananas.  All  that  night  we 
had  been  moving  on  and  on,  slowly  crossing  clear  savannas,  in 
which  nothing  stirred  beside  ourselves  but  the  escort  of  our  own 
shadows,  or  plunging  through  dense  patches  of  forest  of  an  ob- 
scurity so  impenetrable  that  the  very  forms  of  our  rescuers  became 
lost  to  us,  though  we  heard  their  low  voices  and  felt  their  hands 
steadjang  us  in  our  saddles.  Then  our  horses  paced  softly  on  the 
dust  of  a  road,  while  athwart  an  avenue  of  orange  trees  whose 
foliage  seemed  as  black  as  coal,  the  blind  w^alls  of  the  hacienda 
shone  dead  white  like  a  vision  of  mists.  A  Brazilian  aloe  flowered 
by  the  side  of  the  gate ;  we  drooped  in  our  saddles ;  and  the  heavy 
knocks  against  the  wooden  portal  seemed  to  go  on  without  cause, 
and  stop  without  reason,  like  a  sound  heard  in  a  dream.  We 
entered  Seraphina's  hacienda.  The  high  walls  inclosed  a  square 
court  deep  as  the  yard  of  a  prison,  with  flat-roofed  buildings  all 
around.  It  rang  with  many  voices  suddenly.  Every  moment  the 
daylight  increased ;  young  negresses  in  loose  gowns  ran  here  and 
there,  cackling  like  chased  hens,  and  a  fat  woman  waddled  out 
from  under  the  shadow  of  a  veranda. 

She  was  Seraphina's  old  nurse.  She  was  scolding  volubly,  and 
suddenly  she  shrieked,  as  though  she  had  been  stabbed.  Then  all 
was  still  for  a  long  time.  Sitting  high  on  the  back  of  my  patient 
mount,  with  my  fingers  twisted  in  the  mane,  I  saw  in  a  throng 
of  woolly  heads  and  bright  garments  Seraphina's  pale  face.  An 
increasing  murmur  of  sobs  and  endearing  names  mounted  up  to 
me.  Her  hair  hung  down,  her  eyes  seemed  immense;  these  people 
were  carrying  her  off — and  a  man  with  a  careworn,  bilious  face 

340 


PART  FOURTH  341 

and  a  straight,  gray  beard,  neatly  clipped  on  the  edges,  stood  at 
the  head  of  my  horse,  blinking  with  astonishment. 

The  fat  woman  reappeared,  rolling  painfully  along  the  veranda. 

"Enrico!  It  is  her  lover!  Oh!  my  treasure,  my  lamb,  my 
precious  child.  Do  you  hear,  Enrico?  Her  lover!  Oh!  the  poor 
darling  of  my  heart." 

She  appeared  to  be  giggling  and  weeping  at  the  same  time. 
The  sky  above  the  yard  brightened  all  at  once,  as  if  the  sun  had 
emerged  with  a  leap  from  the  distant  waters  of  the  Atlantic.  She 
waved  her  short  arms  at  me  over  the  railing,  then  plunged  her 
dark  fingers  in  the  shock  of  iron-gray  hair  gathered  on  the  top  of 
her  head.  She  turned  away  abruptly,  a  yellow  headkerchief 
dodged  in  her  way,  a  slap  resounded,  a  cry  of  pain,  and  a  negro 
girl  bolted  into  the  court,  nursing  her  cheek  in  the  palms  of  her 
hands.  Doors  slammed;  other  negro  girls  ran  out  of  the  veranda 
dismayed,  and  took  cover  in  various  directions. 

I  swayed  to  and  fro  in  the  saddle,  but  faithful  to  the  plan  of 
our  escape,  I  tried  to  make  clear  my  desire  that  these  peons  should 
be  sworn  to  secrecy  immediately.  Meantime,  somebody  was  trying 
to  disengage  my  feet  from  the  stirrups. 

"  Certainly.     It  is  as  your  worship  wishes." 

The  careworn  man  at  the  head  of  my  horse  was  utterly  in  the 
dark. 

"Attention!"  he  shouted.  "Catch  hold,  hombres.  Carry  the 
cab  oiler  0." 

What  caballerof  A  rosy  flush  tinged  a  boundless  expanse  above 
my  face,  and  then  came  a  sudden  contraction  of  space  and  dusk. 
There  were  big  earthenware  jars  ranged  in  a  row  on  the  floor, 
and  the  two  vaqueros  stood  bareheaded,  stretching  their  arms  over 
me  towards  a  black  crucifix  on  a  wall,  taking  their  oaths,  while  I 
rested  on  my  back.  A  white  beard  hovered  about  my  face,  a  voice 
said,  "  It  is  done,"  then  called  anxiously  twice,  "  Senor!  Senor!  " 
and  when  I  had  escaped  from  the  dream  of  a  cavern,  I  found 
myself  with  my  head  pillowed  on  a  fat  woman's  breast,  and  drink- 
ing chicken  broth  out  of  a  basin  held  to  my  lips.  Her  large  cheeks 
quivered,  she  had  black  twinkling  eyes  and  slight  mustaches  at  the 
corners  of  her  lips.  But  where  was  her  white  beard?  And  why 
did  she  talk  of  an  angel,  as  if  she  were  Manuel? 


342  ROMANCE 

"  Seraphina!  "  I  cried,  but  Castro's  cloak  swooped  on  my  head 
like  a  sable  wfng.  It  was  death.  I  struggled.  Then  I  died.  It 
was  delicious  to  die.  I  followed  the  floating  shape  of  my  love 
beyond  the  worlds  of  the  universe.  We  soared  together  above 
pain,  strife,  cruelty,  and  pity.  We  had  left  death  behind  us  and 
everything  of  life  but  our  love,  which  threw  a  radiant  halo 
around  two  flames  which  were  ourselves — and  immortality  in- 
closed us  in  a  great  and  soothing  darkness. 

Nothing  stirred  in  it.  We  drifted  no  longer.  We  hung  in  it 
quite  still — and  the  empty  husk  of  my  body  watched  our  two 
flames  side  by  side,  mingling  their  light  in  an  infinite  loneliness. 
There  were  two  candles  burning  low  on  a  little  black  table  near 
my  head.  Enrico,  with  his  white  beard  and  zealous  eyes,  was 
bending  over  my  couch,  while  a  chair,  on  high  runners,  rocked 
empty  behind  him.     I  stared. 

"  Senor,  the  night  is  far  advanced,"  he  said  soothingly,  "  and 
Dolores,  my  wife,  watches  over  Dona  Seraphina's  slumbers,  on 
the  other  side  of  this  w^all." 

I  had  been  dead  to  the  world  for  nearly  twenty  hours,  and  the 
awakening  resembled  a  new  birth,  for  I  felt  as  weak  and  helpless 
as  an  infant. 

It  is  extraordinary  how  quickly  we  regained  so  much  of  our 
strength;  but  I  suppose  people  recover  sooner  from  the  effects  of 
privation  than  from  the  weakness  of  disease.  Keeping  pace  with 
the  return  of  our  bodily  vigor,  the  anxieties  of  mind  returned, 
augmented  tenfold  by  all  the  weight  of  our  sinister  experience. 
And  yet,  what  worse  could  happen  to  us  in  the  future?  What 
other  terror  could  it  hold?  We  had  come  back  from  the  very 
confines  of  destruction.  But  Seraphina,  reclining  back  in  an  arm- 
chair, very  still,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  high  white  wall  facing 
the  veranda  across  the  court,  would  murmur  the  word  "  Separa- 
tion!" 

The  possibility  of  our  lives  being  forced  apart  was  terrible  to 
her  affection,  and  intolerable  to  her  pride.  She  had  made  her 
choice,  and  the  feeling  she  had  surrendered  herself  to  so  openly 
must  have  had  a  supreme  potency.  She  had  disregarded  for  it  all 
the  traditions  of  silence  and  reserve.  She  had  looked  at  me  fondly 
through  the  very  tears  of  her  grief ;  she  had  followed  me — leaving 


PART  FOURTH  343 

her  dead  unburied  and  her  prayers  unsaid.  What  more  could  she 
have  done  to  proclaim  her  love  to  the  world?  Could  she,  after 
that,  allow  anything  short  of  death  to  thwart  her  fidelity?  Never! 
And  if  she  were  to  discover  that  I  could,  after  all,  find  it  in  my 
heart  to  support  an  existence  in  which  she  had  no  share,  then, 
indeed,  it  would  be  more  than  enough  to  make  her  die  of  shame. 

"Ah,  dearest!  "  I  said,  "you  shall  never  die  of  shame." 

We  were  different,  but  we  had  read  each  other's  natures  by  a 
fierce  light.  I  understood  the  point  of  honor  in  her  constancy, 
and  she  never  doubted  the  scruples  of  my  true  devotion,  which  had 
brought  so  many  dangers  on  her  head.  We  were  flying  not  to 
save  our  lives,  but  to  preserve  inviolate  our  truth  to  each  other 
and  to  ourselves.  And  if  our  sentiments  appear  exaggerated, 
violent,  and  overstrained,  I  must  point  back  to  their  origin.  Our 
love  had  not  grown  like  a  delicate  flower,  cherished  in  tempered 
sunshine.  It  had  never  known  the  atmosphere  of  tenderness;  our 
souls  had  not  been  awakened  to  each  other  by  a  gentle  whisper, 
but  as  if  by  the  blast  of  a  trumpet.  It  had  called  us  to  a  life  whose 
enemy  was  not  death,  but  separation. 

The  enemy  sat  at  the  gate  of  our  shelter,  as  death  sits  at  the 
gate  of  life.  These  high  walls  could  not  protect  us,  nor  the 
tearful  mumble  of  the  old  woman's  prayers,  nor  yet  the  careworn 
fidelity  of  Enrico.  The  couple  hung  about  us,  quivering  with 
emotion.  They  peeped  round  the  corners  of  the  veranda,  and 
only  rarely  ventured  to  come  out  openly.  The  silent  Galician 
stroked  his  clipped  beard ;  the  obese  woman  kept  on  crossing  herself 
with  loud,  resigned  sighs.  She  would  waddle  up,  wiping  her 
eyes,  to  stroke  Seraphina's  head  and  murmur  endearing  names. 
They  waited  on  us  hand  and  foot,  and  would  stand  close  together, 
ready  for  the  slightest  sign,  in  a  rapt  contemplation.  Now  and 
then  she  would  nudge  her  husband's  ribs  with  her  thick  elbow  and 
murmur,  "  Her  lover." 

She  v/as  happy  when  Seraphina  let  her  sit  at  her  feet,  and  hold 
her  hand.  She  would  pat  it  with  gentle  taps,  squatting  shape- 
lessly  on  a  low  stool. 

"  Why  go  so  far  from  thy  old  nurse,  darling  of  my  heart?  Ah! 
love  is  love,  and  we  have  only  one  life  to  live,  but  this  England 
is  very  far — very  far  away." 


344  ROMANCE 

She  nodded  her  big  iron-gray  head  slowly;  and  to  our  longing 
England  appeared  very  distant,  too,  a  fortunate  isle  across  the  seas, 
an  abode  of  peace,  a  sanctuary  of  love. 

There  was  no  plan  open  to  us  but  the  one  laid  down  by  Se- 
bright. The  secrecy  of  our  sojourn  at  the  hacienda  had,  in  a 
measure,  failed,  though  there  was  no  reason  to  suppose  the  two 
peons  had  broken  their  oath.  Our  arrival  at  dawn  had  been  un- 
observed, as  far  as  we  knew,  and  the  domestic  slaves,  mostly  girls, 
had  been  kept  from  all  communication  with  the  field  hands  out- 
side. All  these  square  leagues  of  the  estate  were  very  much  out 
of  the  world,  and  this  isolation  had  not  been  broken  upon  by  any 
of  O'Brien's  agents  coming  out  to  spj^  It  seemed  to  be  the  only 
part  of  Seraphina's  great  possessions  that  remained  absolutely  her 
own. 

Not  a  whisper  of  any  sort  of  news  reached  us  in  our  hiding- 
place  till  the  fourth  evening,  when  one  of  the  vaqueros  reported 
to  Enrico  that,  riding  on  the  inland  boundary,  he  had  fallen  in 
with  a  company  of  infantry  encamped  on  the  edge  of  a  little  wood. 
Troops  were  being  moved  upon  Rio  Medio.  He  brought  a  note 
from  the  officer  in  command  of  that  party.  It  contained  nothing 
but  a  requisition  for  twenty  head  of  cattle.  The  same  night  we 
left  the  hacienda. 

It  was  a  starry  darkness.  Behind  us  the  soft  wailing  of  the 
old  woman  at  the  gate  died  out: 

"  So  far !     So  very  far !  " 

We  left  the  long  street  of  the  slave  village  on  the  left,  and 
walked  down  the  gentle  slope  of  the  open  glade  towards  the  little 
river.  Seraphina's  hair  was  concealed  in  the  crown  of  a  wide 
sombrero  and,  wrapped  up  in  a  serape,  she  looked  so  mmch  like 
a  cloaked  vaguer o  that  one  missed  the  jingle  of  spurs  out  of  her 
walk.  Enrico  had  fitted  me  out  in  his  own  clothes  from  top  to 
toe.  He  carried  a  Ian  thorn,  and  we  followed  the  circle  of  light 
that  swayed  and  trembled  upon  the  short  grass.  There  was  no 
one  else  with  us,  the  crew  of  the  drogher  being  already  on  board 
to  await  our  coming. 

Her  mast  appeared  above  the  roof  of  some  low  sheds  grouped 
about  a  short  wooden  jetty.  Enrico  raised  the  lamp  high  to  light 
us,  as  we  stepped  on  board. 


PART  FOURTH  345 

Not  a  word  was  spoken;  the  five  negroes  of  the  crew  (Enrico 
answered  for  their  fidelity)  moved  about  noiselessly,  almost  in- 
visible.    Blocks  rattled  feebly  aloft. 

"  Enrico,"  said  Seraphina,  "  do  not  forget  to  put  a  stone  cross 
over  poor  Castro's  grave." 

"  No,  senorita.  May  you  know  years  of  felicity.  We  would 
all  have  laid  down  our  lives  for  you.  Remember  that,  and  do  not 
forget  the  living.  Your  childhood  has  been  the  consolation  of  the 
poor  woman  there  for  the  loss  of  our  little  one,  your  foster  brother, 
who  died.  We  have  given  to  you  much  of  our  affection  for  him 
who  was  denied  to  our  old  age." 

He  stepped  back  from  the  rail.    "  Go  with  God,"  he  said. 

The  faint  air  filled  the  sail,  and  the  outlines  of  wharf  and  roof 
fell  back  into  the  somber  background  of  the  land,  but  the  lanthorn 
in  Enrico's  hand  glimmered  motionless  at  the  end  of  the  jetty,  till 
a  bend  of  the  stream  hid  it  from  our  sight. 

We  glided  smoothly  between  the  banks.  Now  and  then  a 
stretch  of  osiers  and  cane  brakes  rustled  alongside  in  the  darkness. 
All  was  strange;  the  contours  of  the  land  melted  before  our  ad- 
vance. The  earth  was  made  of  shifting  shadows,  and  only  the 
stars  remained  in  unchanged  groups  of  glitter  on  the  black  sky. 
We  floated  across  the  land-locked  basin,  and  under  the  low  head- 
land we  had  steered  for  from  the  sea  in  the  storm.  All  this,  seen 
only  once  under  streams  of  lightning,  was  unrecognizable  to  us, 
and  seemed  plunged  in  deep  slumber.  But  the  fresh  feel  of  the  sea 
air,  and  the  freedom  of  earth  and  sky  wedded  on  the  sea  horizon, 
returned  to  us  like  old  friends,  the  companions  of  that  time  when 
we  communed  in  words  and  silences  on  board  the  Lion^  that  frag- 
ment of  England  found  in  a  mist,  boarded  in  battle,  with  its  absurd 
and  warm.-hearted  protection.  On  our  other  hand,  the  rampart 
of  white  dunes  intruded  the  line  of  a  ghostly  shore  between  the 
depth  of  the  sea  and  the  profundity  of  the  sky ;  and  when  the  faint 
breeze  failed  for  a  moment,  the  negro  crew  troubled  the  silence 
with  the  heavy  splashes  of  their  sweeps  falling  in  slow  and  solemn 
cadence.  The  rudder  creaked  gently ;  the  black  in  command  was 
old  and  of  spare  build,  resembling  Cesar,  the  major-domo,  without 
the  splendor  of  maroon  velvet  and  gold  lace.  He  was  a  very  good 
sailor,  I  believe,  taciturn  and  intelligent.     He  had  seen  the  Lion 


346  ROMANCE 

frequently  on  his  trips  to  Havana,  and  would  recognize  her,  he 
assured  me,  amongst  a  whole  host  of  shipping.  When  I  had  ex- 
plained what  was  expected  of  him,  according  to  Sebright's  pro- 
gramme, a  bizarre  grimace  of  a  smile  disturbed  the  bony,  mournful 
cast  of  his  African  face. 

"  Fall  on  board  by  accident,  senor.  Sif  Now,  by  St.  Jago  of 
Compostella,  the  patron  of  our  hacienda,  you  shall  see  this  old 
Pedro — who  has  been  set  to  sail  the  craft  ever  since  she  was  built 
— as  overcome  by  an  accident  as  a  little  rascal  of  a  boy  that  has 
stolen  a  boat." 

After  this  wordy  declaration  he  never  spoke  to  us  again.  He 
gave  his  short  orders  in  low  undertones,  and  the  others,  four  stal- 
wart blacks,  in  the  prime  of  life,  executed  them  in  silence.  An- 
other night  brought  the  unchanging  stars  to  look  at  us  in  their 
multitudes,  till  the  dawn  put  them  out  just  as  we  opened  the 
entrance  of  the  harbor.  The  daylight  discovered  the  arid  coloring 
of  the  coast,  a  castle  on  a  sandy  hill,  and  a  few  small  boats  with 
ragged  sails  making  for  the  land.  A  brigantine,  that  seemed  to 
have  carried  the  breeze  with  her  right  in,  threw  up  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  radiantly  to  the  rising  sun,  before  rounding  the  point. 
The  sound  of  bells  came  out  to  sea,  and  met  us  while  we  crept 
slowly  on,  abreast  of  the  battery  at  the  water's  edge. 

"  A  feast-day  in  the  city,"  said  the  old  negro  at  the  helm.  "  And 
here  is  an  English  ship  of  war." 

The  sun-rays  struck  from  afar  full  at  her  belted  side ;  the  water 
was  like  glass  along  the  shore.  She  swam  into  the  very  shade 
of  the  hill,  before  she  wore  round,  with  great  deliberation,  in  an 
ample  sweep  of  her  head-gear  through  a  complete  half-circle.  She 
came  to  the  wind  on  the  other  tack  under  her  short  canvas;  her 
lower  deck  ports  were  closed,  the  hammock  cloths  made  like  a  ridge 
of  unmelted  snow  lying  along  her  rail. 

It  was  evident  she  was  kept  standing  off  and  on  outside  the 
harbor,  as  an  armed  man  may  pace  to  and  fro  before  a  gate.  With 
the  hum  of  six  hundred  wakeful  lives  in  her  flanks,  the  tap-tapping 
of  a  drum,  and  the  shrill  modulations  of  the  boatswain's  calls 
piping  some  order  along  her  decks,  she  floated  majestically  across 
our  path.  But  the  only  living  being  we  saw  was  the  red-coated 
marine  on  sentry  by  the  lifebuoys,  looking  down  at  us  over  the 


PART  FOURTH  347 

taffrail.  We  passed  so  close  to  her  that  I  could  distinguish  the 
whites  of  his  eyes,  and  the  tompions  in  the  muzzles  of  her  stern- 
chasers  protruding  out  of  the  ports  belonging  to  the  admiral's 
quarters. 

I  knew  her.  She  was  Rowley's  flagship.  She  had  thrown  the 
shadow  of  her  sails  upon  the  end  of  my  first  sea  journey.  She 
was  the  man-of-war  going  out  for  a  cruise  on  that  day  when 
Carlos,  Tomas,  and  myself  arrived  in  Jamaica  in  the  old  Thames. 
And  there  she  was  meeting  me  again,  after  two  years,  before 
Havana — the  might  of  the  fortunate  isle  to  which  we  turned  our 
eyes,  part  and  parcel  of  my  inheritance,  formidable  with  the  cour- 
age of  my  countrymen,  humming  with  my  native  speech — and  as 
foreign  to  my  purposes  as  if  I  had  forfeited  forever  my  brithright 
in  her  protection.  I  had  drifted  into  a  sort  of  outlaw.  You  may 
not  break  the  king's  peace  and  be  made  welcome  on  board  a 
king's  ship.  You  may  not  hope  to  make  use  of  a  king's  ship  for 
the  purposes  of  an  elopement.  There  was  no  room  on  board  that 
seventy-four  for  our  romance. 

As  it  was,  I  very  nearly  hailed  her.  What  would  become  of  us 
if  the  Lion  had  already  left  Havana?  I  thought.  But  no.  To 
hail  her  meant  separation — the  only  forbidden  thing  to  those  who, 
in  the  strength  of  youth  and  love,  are  permitted  to  defy  the  world 
together. 

I  did  not  hail;  and  the  marine  dwindled  to  a  red  speck  upon 
the  noble  hull  forging  away  from  us  on  the  offshore  tack.  The 
brazen  clangor  of  bells  seemed  to  struggle  with  the  sharp  puff 
of  the  breeze  that  sent  us  in. 

The  shipping  in  harbor  was  covered  with  bunting  in  honor  of 
the  feast-day ;  for  the  same  reason,  there  was  not  a  sign  of  the  usual 
crowd  of  small  boats  that  give  animation  to  the  waters  of  a  port; 
the  middle  of  the  harbor  was  strangely  empty.  A  solitary  bum- 
boat  canoe,  with  a  yellow  bunch  of  bananas  in  the  bow,  and  an  old 
negro  woman  dipping  a  languid  paddle  at  the  stern,  were  all  that 
met  my  eye.  Presently,  however,  a  six-oared  custom-house  galley 
darted  out  from  the  tier  of  ships,  pulling  for  the  American  brigan- 
tine.  I  noticed  in  her,  beside  the  ordinary  port  officials,  several 
soldiers,  and  a  person  astonishingly  like  the  alguazil  of  the  illus- 
trations to  Spanish  romances.    One  of  the  uniformed  sitters  waved 


348  ROMANCE 

his  hand  at  us,  recognizing  an  estate  drogher,  and  shouted  some 
directions,  of  which  we  only  caught  the  words : 

"  Steps — examination — to-morrow." 

Our  steersman  took  off  his  old  hat  humbly,  to  hail  back,  "  Muy 
bieUj  senor." 

I  breathed  freely,  for  they  gave  us  no  more  of  their  attention. 
Soldiers,  alguazil,  and  custom-house  officers  were  swarming  aboard 
the  American,  as  if  bent  on  ransacking  her  from  stem  to  stern  in 
the  shortest  possible  time,  so  as  not  to  be  late  for  the  procession. 

The  absence  of  movement  in  the  harbor,  the  festive  and  idle 
appearance  of  the  ships,  with  the  flutter  of  innumerable  flags  on 
the  forest  of  masts,  and  the  great  uproar  of  church  bells  in  the  air, 
made  an  impressive  greeting  for  our  eyes  and  ears.  And  the 
deserted  aspect  of  the  harbor  front  of  the  city  was  very  striking, 
too.  The  feast  had  swept  the  quays  of  people  so  completely  that 
the  tiny  pair  of  sentries  at  the  foot  of  a  tall  yellow  building 
caught  the  eye  from  afar.  Seraphina  crouched  on  a  coil  of  rope 
under  the  bulwark;  old  Pedro,  at  the  tiller,  peered  about  from 
under  his  hand,  and  I,  trying  to  expose  myself  to  view  as  little  as 
possible,  helped  him  to  look  for  the  Lion.  There  she  is.  Yes! 
No!  There  she  was.  A  crushing  load  fell  off  my  chest.  We 
had  made  her  out  together,  old  Pedro  and  I. 

And  then  the  last  part  of  Sebright's  plan  had  to  be  carried  out 
at  once.  The  foresheet  of  the  drogher  appeared  to  part,  our  main- 
sail shook,  and  before  I  could  gasp  twice,  we  had  drifted  stern 
foremost  into  the  Lions  mizzen  chains  with  a  crash  that  brought 
a  genuine  ex;pression  of  concern  to  the  old  negro's  face.  He  had 
managed  the  whole  thing  with  a  most  convincing  skill,  and  with- 
out even  once  glancing  at  the  ship.  We  had  done  our  part,  but 
the  people  of  the  Lion  seemed  to  fail  in  theirs  unaccountably. 
Of  all  the  faces  that  crowded  her  rail  at  the  shock,  not  one  ap- 
peared with  a  glimmer  of  intelligence.  All  the  cargo  ports  were 
down.  Their  surprise  and  their  swearing  appeared  to  me  alarm- 
ingly unaffected;  with  a  most  imbecile  alacrity  they  exerted  them- 
selves, with  small  spars  and  boathooks,  to  push  the  drogher  off. 
Nobody  seemed  to  recognize  me;  Seraphina  might  have  been  a 
peon  sitting  on  deck,  cloaked  from  neck  to  heels  and  under  a  som- 
brero.    I  dared  not  shout  to  them  in  English,  for  fear  of  being 


PART  FOURTH  349 

heard  on  board  the  other  ships  around.  At  last  Sebright  himself 
appeared  on  the  poop. 

He  gave  one  look  over  the  side. 

"What  the  devil    .    .    ."  he  began.     Was  he  blind,  too? 

Suddenly  I  saw  him  throw  up  his  arms  above  his  head.  He 
vanished.  A  port  came  open  with  a  jerk  at  the  last  moment.  I 
lifted  Seraphina  up:  two  hands  caught  hold  of  her,  and,  in  my 
great  hurry  to  scramble  up  after  her,  I  barked  my  shins  cruelly. 
The.  port  fell;  the  drogher  went  on  bumping  alongside,  com- 
pletely disregarded.  Seraphina  dropped  the  cloak  at  her  feet  and 
flung  off  her  hat. 

"  Good-morning,  amigos,"  she  said  gravely. 

A  hissed  "  Damn  you  fools — keep  quiet!  "  from  Sebright,  stifled 
the  cheer  in  all  those  bronzed  throats.  Only  a  thin  little  poor 
"  hooray  "  quavered  along  the  deck.  The  timid  steward  had  not 
been  able  to  overcome  his  enthusiasm.  He  slapped  his  head  in 
despair,  and  rushed  away  to  bury  himself  in  his  pantry. 

"  Turned  up,  by  heavens !  .  .  .  Go  in.  .  .  .  Good  God!  .  .  . 
Bucketfuls  of  tears.  .  .  ."  stammered  Sebright,  pushing  us  into 
the  cuddy.     "  Go  in!     Go  in  at  once!  " 

Mrs.  Williams  rose  from  behind  the  table  wide-eyed,  clasping 
her  hands,  and  stumbled  twice  as  she  ran  to  us. 

"What  have  you  done  to  that  child,  Mr.  Kemp!"  she  cried 
insanely  at  me.  "Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear!  You  look  like  your 
own  ghost." 

Sebright,  burning  with  impatience,  pulled  me  away.  The 
cabin  door  fell  upon  the  two  women,  locked  in  a  hug,  and,  stepping 
into  his  stateroom,  we  could  do  nothing  at  first  but  slap  each 
other  on  the  back  and  ejaculate  the  most  unmeaning  exclamations, 
like  a  couple  of  jocular  idiots.  But  when,  in  the  expansion  of  my 
heart,  I  tried  to  banter  him  about  not  keeping  his  word  to  look 
out  for  us,  he  bent  double  in  trying  to  restrain  his  hilarity,  slapped 
his  thighs,  and  grew  red  in  the  face. 

The  excellent  joke  was  that,  for  the  past  six  days,  we  had  been 
supposed  to  be  dead — drowned ;  at  least  Dona  Seraphina  had  been 
provided  with  that  sort  of  death  in  her  own  name ;  I  was  drowned, 
too,  but  in  the  disguise  of  a  piratical  young  English  nobleman. 

"  There's  nothing  too  bad  for  them  to  believe  of  us,"  he  com- 


350  ROMANCE 

merited,  and  guffawed  in  his  joy  at  seeing  me  unscathed.  "  Dead! 
Drowned!     Ha!     Ha!    Good,  wasn't  it? " 

Mrs.  WilHams — he  said — had  been  weeping  her  eyes  out  over 
our  desolate  end ;  and  even  the  skipper  had  sulked  with  his  food  for 
a  day  or  two. 

"Ha!  Ha!  Drowned!  Excellent!"  He  shook  me  by  the 
shoulders,  looking  me  straight  in  the  eyes — and  the  bizarre,  nervous 
hilarity  of  my  reception,  so  unlike  his  scornful  attitude,  proved 
that  he,  too,  had  believed  the  rumor.  Indeed,  nothing  could  have 
been  more  natural,  considering  my  inexperience  in  handling  boats 
and  the  fury  of  the  norther.  It  had  sent  the  Lion  staggering  into 
Havana  in  less  than  twenty  hours  after  we  had  parted  from  her 
on  the  coast. 

Suddenly  a  change  came  over  him.  He  pushed  me  on  to  the 
settee. 

"  Speak !  Talk !  What  has  happened  ?  Where  have  you  been 
all  this  time?    Man,  you  look  ten  years  older." 

"  Ten  years.    Is  that  all?  "  I  said. 

And  after  he  had  heard  the  whole  story  of  our  passages  he  ap- 
peared greatly  sobered. 

"  Wonderful !  Wonderful !  "  he  muttered,  lost  in  deep  thought, 
till  I  reminded  him  it  was  his  turn,  now,  to  speak. 

"  You  are  the  talk  of  the  town,"  he  said,  recovering  his  elas- 
ticity of  spirit  as  he  went  on.  The  death  of  Don  Balthasar  had 
been  the  first  great  sensation  of  Havana,  but  it  seemed  that 
O'Brien  had  kept  that  news  to  himself,  till  he  heard  by  an  over- 
land messenger  that  Seraphina  and  I  had  escaped  from  the  Casa 
Riego. 

Then  he  gave  it  to  the  world ;  he  let  it  be  inferred  that  he  had 
the  news  of  both  events  together.  The  story,  as  sworn  to  by 
various  suborned  rascals,  and  put  out  by  his  creatures,  ran  that 
an  English  desperado,  arriving  in  Rio  Medio  with  some  Mexicans 
in  a  schooner,  had  incited  the  rabble  of  the  place  to  attack  the 
Casa  Riego.  Don  Balthasar  had  been  shot  while  defending  his 
house  at  the  head  of  his  negroes;  and  Don  Balthasar's  daughter 
had  been  carried  oH  by  the  English  pirate. 

The  amazement  and  sensation  were  extreme.  Several  of  the 
first  families  went  into  mourning.     A  service  for  the  repose  of 


PART  FOURTH  351 

Don  Balthasar's  soul  was  sung  in  the  Cathedral.  Captain  Wil- 
liams went  there  out  of  curiosity,  and  returned  full  of  the  magnifi- 
cence of  the  sight;  nave  draped  in  black,  an  enormous  catafalque, 
with  silver  angels,  more  than  life-size,  kneeling  at  the  four  corners 
with  joined  hands,  an  amazing  multitude  of  lights.  A  demonstra- 
tion of  unbounded  grief  from  the  Judge  of  the  Marine  Court  had 
startled  the  distinguished  congregation.  In  his  place  amongst  the 
body  of  higher  magistrature,  Don  Patricio  O'Brien  burst  into  an 
uncontrollable  paroxysm  of  sobs,  and  had  to  be  assisted  out  of 
the  church. 

It  was  almost  incredible,  but  I  could  well  believe  it.  With  the 
thunderous  strains  of  Dies  Irae  rolling  over  his  bowed  head, 
amongst  all  these  symbols  and  trappings  of  woe,  he  must  have 
seen,  in  the  black  anguish  of  his  baffled  passion,  the  true  image  of 
death  itself,  and  tasted  all  the  profound  deception  of  life.  Who 
could  tell  how  much  secret  rage,  jealousy,  regret,  and  despair  had 
gone  to  that  outburst  of  grief,  whose  truth  had  fluttered  a  dis- 
tinguished company  of  mourners,  and  had  nearly  interrupted  their 
official  supplications  for  the  repose  of  that  old  man,  who  had  been 
dead  to  the  world  for  so  many  years  ?  I  believe  that,  on  that  very 
day,  just  as  he  was  going  to  the  service,  O'Brien  had  received  the 
news  of  our  supposed  death  by  drowning.  The  music,  the  voices, 
the  lights  of  the  grave,  the  pomp  of  mourning,  awe,  and  supplica- 
tion crying  for  mercy  upon  the  dead,  had  been  too  much  for  him. 
He  had  presumed  too  much  upon  his  fortitude.  He  wept  aloud 
for  his  love  lost,  for  his  vengeance  defeated,  for  the  dreams  gone 
out  of  his  life,  for  the  inaccessible  consummation  of  his  desire. 

"  And,  you  know,  with  all  these  affairs,  he  feels  himself  wab- 
bling in  his  socket,"  Sebright  began  again,  after  musing  for  a 
while.  Indeed,  the  last  events  in  Rio  Medio  were  endangering 
his  position.  He  could  no  more  present  his  reports  upon  the  state 
of  the  province,  with  incidental  reflections  upon  the  bad  faith  of 
the  English  Government  (who  encouraged  the  rebels  against  the 
Catholic  king),  the  arrogance  of  the  English  admiral,  and  con- 
cluding with  the  loyalty  and  honesty  of  the  Rio  Medio  popula- 
tion, "  who  themselves  suffered  many  acts  of  molestation  from  the 
Mexican  pirates."  The  most  famous  of  these  papers,  printed  at 
that  time  in  the  official  Gazette,  had  recommended  that  the  loyal 


352  ROMANCE 

town  should  be  given  a  battery  of  thirty-six  pounders  for  purposes 
of  self-defense.  They  had  been  given  them  just  in  time  to  be 
turned  on  Rowley's  boats;  it  is  known  with  what  deadly  effect. 
O'Brien's  report  after  that  event  had  made  it  clear  that  the 
virtuous  population  of  the  bay,  exasperated  by  the  intrusions  of 
the  Mexicanos  upon  their  peaceful  state,  and  abhorring  in  their 
souls  the  rebellion  trying  to  lift  its  envenomed  head,  etc.,  etc., 
.  .  .  heroically  manned  the  battery  to  defend  their  town  from 
the  boats  which  they  took  to  be  these  very  pirates  the  British 
admiral  was  in  search  of.  He  pleaded  for  them  the  uncertain 
light  of  the  early  morning,  the  ardor  of  citizens,  valorous,  but  nat- 
urally inexperienced  in  matters  of  war,  and  the  impossibility  to 
suppose  that  the  admiral  of  a  friendly  power  would  dispatch  an 
armed  force  to  land  on  these  shores.  I  have  read  these  things 
with  my  own  eyes;  there  were  old  files  of  the  Gazette  on  board, 
and  Sebright,  who  had  been  reading  up  his  O'Brien,  pointed  them 
out  to  me  with  his  finger,  muttering: 

"  Here — look  there.    Pretty,  aint  it?  " 

But  that  was  all  over.  The  bubble  had  burst.  It  was  reported 
in  town  that  the  private  audience  the  Juez  had  lately  from  the 
Captain-General  was  of  a  most  stormy  description.  They  say  old 
Marshal  What-d'ye-call-'um  ended  by  flinging  his  last  report  in 
his  face,  and  asking  him  how  dared  he  work  his  lawyer's  tricks 
upon  an  old  soldier.  Good  old  fighting  cock.  But  stupid.  All 
these  old  soldiers  were  stupid,  Sebright  declared.  Old  admirals, 
too.  However,  the  land  troops  had  arrived  in  Rio  Medio  by  this 
time ;  the  Tornado  frigate,  too,  no  doubt,  having  sailed  four  daj^s 
ago,  with  orders  to  burn  the  villages  to  the  ground ;  and  the  good 
Lugarenos  must  be  catching  colds  trying  to  hide  from  the  cara- 
bineers in  the  deep,  damp  woods. 

Our  admiral  was  awaiting  the  issue  of  that  expedition.  Re- 
turning home  under  a  cloud,  Rowley  wanted  to  take  with  him 
the  assurance  of  the  pirate  nest  being  destroyed  at  last,  as  a  sort 
of  diplomatic  feather  in  his  cap. 

"  He  may  think,"  Sebright  commented,  "  that  it's  his  sailorly 
bluff  that  has  done  it,  but,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  nobody  but  you 
yourself,  Kemp,  had  anything  to  do  with  bringing  it  about. 
Funny,  is  it  not?    Old  Rowley  keeps  his  ship  dodging  outside  be- 


PART  FOURTH  353 

cause  it's  cooler  at  sea  than  stewing  in  this  harbor,  but  he  sends 
in  a  boat  for  news  every  morning.  What  he  is  most  anxious  for 
is  to  get  the  notorious  Nichols  into  his  hands;  take  him  home  for 
a  hanging.  It  seems  clear  to  me  that  they  are  humbugging  him 
ashore.  Nichols!  Where's  Nichols?  There  are  people  here  who 
say  that  Nichols  has  had  free  board  and  lodging  in  Havana  jail  for 
the  last  six  months.  Others  swear  that  it  is  Nichols  who  has 
killed  the  old  gentleman,  run  ol¥  with  Dona  Seraphina,  and  got 
drowned.  Nichols!  Who's  Nichols?  On  that  showing  you  are 
Nichols.  Anybody  may  be  Nichols.  Who  has  ever  seen  him 
outside  Rio  Medio?  I  used  to  believe  in  him  at  one  time,  but, 
upon  my  word  I  begin  to  doubt  whether  there  ever  was  such  a 
man." 

"  But  the  man  existed,  at  any  rate,"  I  said.  "  I  knew  him — 
I've  talked  with  him.  He  came  out  second  mate  in  the  same  ship 
with  me — in  the  old  Thames.  Ramon  took  charge  of  him  in 
Kingston,  and  that's  the  last  positive  thing  I  can  swear  to,  of  him. 
But  that  he  was  in  Rio  Medio  for  two  years,  and  vanished  from 
there  almost  directly  after  that  unlucky  boat  affair,  I  am  absolutely 
certain." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  O'Brien  knows  where  to  lay  his  hand  on  him.. 
But,  no  matter  w^here  the  fellow  is,  in  jail  or  out  of  it,  the  admiral 
will  never  get  hold  of  him.  If  they  had  him  they  could  not  think 
of  giving  him  up.  He  knows  too  much  of  the  game;  and  remem- 
ber that  O'Brien,  if  he  wabbles  in  the  socket,  is  by  no  means  down 
yet.  A  man  like  that  doesn't  get  knocked  over  like  a  ninepin. 
You  may  be  sure  he  has  twenty  skeletons  put  away  in  good  places, 
that  he  will  haul  out  one  by  one,  rather  than  let  himself  be 
squashed.  He's  not  going  to  give  in.  A  few  days  since  a  priest 
— your  priest,  you  know — turned  up  here  on  foot  from  Rio  Medio, 
and  went  about  wringing  his  hands,  declaring  that  he  knew  all  the 
truth,  and  meant  to  make  a  noise  about  it,  too.  O'Brien  made 
short  work  of  him,  though;  got  the  archbishop  to  send  him  into 
retreat,  as  they  call  it,  to  a  Franciscan  convent  a  hundred  miles 
from  here.  These  things  are  whispered  about  all  along  the  gutters 
of  this  place." 

I  imagined  the  poor  Father  Antonio,  with  his  simple  resignation, 
mourning  for  us  in  his  forced  retreat,  broken-hearted,  and  mur- 


354  ROMANCE 

muring,  "  Inscrutable,  inscrutable."  I  should  have  liked  to  see 
the  old  man. 

"  I  tell  you  the  town  is  fairly  buzzing  with  the  atrocities  of  this 
business,"  Sebright  went  on.  "  It's  the  thing  for  fashionable 
people  to  go  and  see  what  I  may  call  the  relics  of  the  crime.  They 
are  on  show  in  the  waiting-hall  of  the  Palace  of  Justice.  Why, 
I  went  there  myself.  You  go  through  a  swing  door  into  a  big 
place  that,  for  cheerfulness,  is  no  better  than  a  monster  coal  cellar, 
and  there  you  behold,  laid  out  on  a  little  black  table,  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams' woolen  shawl,  your  senorita's  tortoise-shell  comb,  that  had 
got  entangled  in  it  somehow,  and  my  old  cap  that  I  lent  you — 
you  remember.  I  assure  you,  it  gave  me  the  horrors  to  see  the 
confounded  things  spread  out  there  in  that  dim  religious  light. 
Dash  me,  if  I  didn't  go  queer  all  over.  And  all  the  time  swell 
carriages  stopping  before  the  portico,  dressed-up  women  walking 
up  in  pairs  and  threes,  sighing  before  the  missus'  shawl,  turning 
up  their  eyes,  'Ah!  Pobrecita!  Pobrecita!  But  what  a  strange 
wrap  for  her  to  have.  It  is  very  coarse.  Perished  in  the  flower 
of  her  youth.  Incredible!  Oh,  the  savage,  cruel  Englishman.' 
The  funniest  thing  in  the  w^orld." 

But  if  this  was  so,  Manuel's  Lugarenos  were  now  in  Havana. 
Sebright  pointed  out  that,  as  things  stood,  it  was  the  safest  place 
for  them,  under  the  wing  of  their  patron.  Sebright  had  recog- 
nized the  schooner  at  once.  She  came  in  very  early  one  morning, 
and  hauled  herself  unostentatiously  out  of  sight  amongst  a  ruck 
of  small  craft  moored  in  the  lower  part  of  the  harbor.  He  took 
the  first  opportunity  to  ask  one  of  the  guards  on  the  quay  what 
was  that  pretty  vessel  over  there,  just  to  hear  what  the  man  would 
say.  He  was  assured  that  she  was  a  Porto  Rico  trader  of  no  con- 
sequence, well  known  in  the  port. 

"  Never  mind  the  scoundrels;  they  can  do  nothing  more  to 
you." 

Sebright  dismissed  the  Lugarenos  out  of  my  life.  The  unfavor- 
able circumstance  for  us  was  that  the  captain  had  gone  ashore. 
The  ship  was  ready  for  sea;  absolutely  cleared;  papers  on  board; 
could  go  in  an  hour  if  it  came  to  that ;  but,  at  any  rate,  next  morn- 
ing at  daylight,  before  O'Brien  could  get  wind  of  the  Riego 
drogher  arriving.     Every  movement  in  port  was  reported  to  the 


PART  FOURTH  355 

Suez;  but  this  was  a  feast,  and  he  would  not  hear  of  It  probably 
till  next  day.  Even  fiestas  had  their  uses  sometimes.  In  his 
anxiety  to  discover  Seraphina,  O'Brien  had  played  such  pranks 
amongst  the  foreign  shipping  (after  the  Lion  had  been  drawn 
blank)  that  the  whole  consular  body  had  addressed  a  joint  protest 
to  the  Governor,  and  the  Juez  had  been  told  to  moderate  his 
efforts.  No  ship  was  to  be  visited  more  than  once.  Still  I  had 
seen,  mj'self,  soldiers  going  in  a  boat  to  board  the  American  brigan- 
tine:  a  garlic-eating  crew,  poisoning  the  cabins  with  their  breath, 
and  poking  their  noses  everywhere.  Of  course,  since  our  supposed 
drowning,  there  had  been  a  lull;  but  the  least  thing  might  start 
him  off  again.  He  was  reputed  to  be  almost  out  of  his  mind 
with  sorrow,  arising  from  his  great  attachment  for  the  family. 
He  walked  about  as  if  distracted,  suffered  from  insomnia, 
and  had  not  been  fit  to  preside  in  his  court  for  over  a  week, 
now. 

"  But  don't  you  expect  Williams  back  on  board  directly?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  No.  Not  even  to-night.  He  told  the  missus  he  was  going 
to  spend  the  day  out  of  town  with  his  consignee,  but  he  tipped 
me  the  wink.  This  evening  he  will  send  a  note  that  the  con- 
signee detains  him  for  the  night,  because  the  letters  are  not  ready, 
and  I'll  have  to  go  to  her  and  lie,  the  best  I  am  able,  that  it's 
quite  the  usual  thing.     Damn !  " 

I  was  appalled.  This  was  too  bad.  And,  as  I  raged  against  the 
dissolute  habits  of  the  man,  Sebright  entreated  me  to  moderate 
my  voice  so  as  not  to  be  heard  in  the  cabin.  Did  I  expect  the 
man  to  change  his  skin?  He  had  been  doing  the  gay  bachelor 
about  here  all  his  life ;  had  never  suspected  he  was  doing  anything 
particularly  scandalous  either. 

"  He  married  the  old  girl  out  of  chivalry, — the  romantic  fat 
beggar,— and  never  realized  what  it  meant  till  she  came  out  with 
him,"  Sebright  went  on  whispering  to  me.  "  He  loves  and  honors 
her  more  than  you  may  think.  That  is  so,  for  all  your  shrugs,  Mr. 
Kemp.  It  is  not  so  easy  to  break  the  old  connection  as  you 
imagine.  Why,  the  other  evening,  two  of  his  dissolute  habits  (as 
you  call  them)  came  off,  with  mantillas  over  their  heads,  in  a 
boat,  in  company  with  a  male  scallawag  of  sorts,  pinching  a  man- 


356  ROMANCE 

dolin,  and  serenaded  the  ship  for  him.  We  were  all  in  the  cabin 
after  supper,  and  poor  Mrs.  Williams,  with  her  eyes  still  red  from 
weeping  over  you  people,  says  to  us,  '  How  sweet  and  melancholy 
that  sounds,'  says  she.  You  should  have  seen  the  skipper  rolling 
his  eyes  at  me.  The  perspiration  of  fright  was  simply  pouring 
down  his  face.  I  rushed  on  deck,  and  it  took  me  all  my  Spanish  to 
stop  them  from  coming  aboard.  I  had  to  swear  by  all  the  saints, 
and  the  honor  of  a  caballero,  that  there  was  a  wife.  They  went 
away  laughing  at  last.  They  did  not  want  to  make  trouble.  They 
simply  had  not  believed  the  tale  before.  Thought  it  was  some 
dodge  of  his.  I  could  hear  their  peals  of  laughter  all  the  way 
up  the  harbor.  These  are  the  difficulties  we  have.  The  old  girl 
must  be  protected  from  that  sort  of  eye-opener,  if  I've  to  forswear 
my  soul.  I've  been  keeping  guard  over  her  ever  since  we  arrived 
here — besides  looking  out  for  you  people,  as  long  as  there  was  any 
hope." 

I  was  greatly  cast  down.  Perhaps  Williams  was  justified  in 
making  concessions  to  the  associates  of  his  former  jolly  existence 
to  save  some  outrage  to  the  feelings  of  his  consort.  I  did  not  want 
to  criticise  his  motives — but  what  about  getting  him  back  on 
board  at  once? 

Sebright  was  biting  his  lip.  The  necessity  was  pressing,  he 
admitted. 

He  had  an  idea  where  to  find  him.  But  for  himself  he  could 
not  go — that  was  evident.  Neither  would  I  wish  him  to  leave 
the  ship,  even  for  a  moment,  now  Seraphina  was  on  board.  An 
unexpected  visit  from  some  zealous  police  understrapper,  a  mo- 
mentary want  of  presence  of  mind  on  the  part  of  the  timid 
steward;  there  was  enough  to  bring  about  our  undoing.  More- 
over, as  he  had  said,  he  must  remain  on  guard  over  the  missus. 
But  whom  to  send?  There  was  not  a  single  boatman  about. 
The  harbor  was  a  desert  of  water  and  dressed  ships;  but  even 
the  crews  of  most  of  them  were  ashore — "  on  a  regular  spree  of 
praying,"  as  he  expressed  it  vexedly.  As  to  our  own  crew,  not 
one  of  them  knew  anything  more  of  Spanish  than  a  few  terms  of 
abuse,  perhaps.  Their  hearts  were  in  the  right  place,  but  as  to 
their  wits,  he  wouldn't  trust  a  single  one  of  them  by  himself — 
no,  not  an  inch  away  from  the  ship.     How  could   he  send  one 


PART  FOURTH  357 

of  them  ashore  with  the  wine-shops  yawning  wide  on  all  sides, 
and  not  enough  lingo  to  ask  for  the  way.  Sure  to  get  drunk,  to 
get  lost,  to  get  into  trouble  in  some  way,  and  in  the  end  get  picked 
up  by  the  police.  The  slightest  hitch  of  that  sort  would  call  at- 
tention upon  the  ship — and  with  O'Brien  to  draw  inferences. 
.   .   .   He  rubbed  his  head. 

"  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  go,"  he  grunted.  "  But  I  am  known ; 
I  may  be  followed.  They  may  wonder  why  I  rush  to  fetch 
my  skipper.  And  yet  I  feel  this  is  the  time.  The  very  time.  Be- 
tween now  and  four  o'clock  to-morrow  morning  we  have  an 
almost  absolute  certitude  of  getting  away  with  you  two.  This  is 
our  chance  and  your  chance." 

He  was  lost  in  perplexity.    Then,  as  if  inspired,  I  cried: 

"I  will  go!" 

"  The  devil!  "  he  said,  amazed.     "  Would  you?  " 

I  rushed  at  him  with  arguments.  No  one  would  know  me. 
My  clothes  were  all  right  and  clean  enough  for  a  feast-day.  I 
could  slip  through  the  crowds  unperceived.  The  principal  thing 
was  to  get  Seraphina  out  of  O'Brien's  reach.  At  the  worst,  I 
could  always  find  means  to  get  away  from  Cuba  by  myself.  There 
was  Mrs.  Williams  to  look  after  her,  and  if  I  missed  Williams  by 
some  mischance,  and  failed  to  make  my  way  back  to  the  ship  in 
time,  I  charged  them  solemnly  not  to  wait,  but  sail  away  at  the 
earliest  possible  moment. 

I  said  much  more  than  this.  I  was  eloquent.  I  became  as  if 
suddenly  intoxicated  by  the  nearness  of  freedom  and  safety.  The 
thought  of  being  at  sea  with  her  in  a  few  hours,  away  from  all 
trouble  of  mind  or  heart,  made  my  head  swim.  It  seemed  to  me  I 
should  go  mad  if  I  was  not  allowed  to  go.  My  limbs  tingled  with 
eagerness.     I  stuttered  with  excitement. 

"  Well — after  all!  "  Sebright  mumbled. 

"  I  must  go  in  and  tell  her,"  I  said. 

"  No.  Don't  do  that,"  said  that  wise  young  man.  "  Have  you 
made  up  your  mind?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  I  answered.     "  But  she's  reasonable." 

"  Still,"  he  argued,  "  the  old  girl  is  sure  to  say  that  nothing  of 
the  kind  is  necessary.  The  captain  told  her  that  he  was  coming 
back  for  tea.    What  could  we  say  to  that?    We  can't  explain  the 


358  ROMANCE 

true  state  of  the  case,  and  if  you  persist  in  going,  it  will  look  like 
pig-headed  folly  on  your  part." 

He  threw  his  writing-desk  open  for  me. 

"  Write  to  her.  Write  down  your  arguments — what  j'^ou  have 
been  telling  me.  It's  a  fact  that  the  door  stands  open  for  a  few 
hours.  As  to  the  rest,"  he  pursued,  with  a  weary  sigh,  "  I'll  do 
the  lying  to  pass  it  off  with  Mrs.  Williams." 

Thus  it  came  about  that,  with  only  two  flimsy  bulkheads  be- 
tween us,  I  wrote  my  first  letter  to  Seraphina,  while  Sebright  went 
on  deck  to  make  arrangements  to  send  me  ashore.  He  was  some 
time  away ;  long  enough  for  me  to  pour  out  on  paper  the  exultation 
of  my  thought,  the  confidence  of  my  hope,  my  desire  to  have  her 
safe  at  last  with  me  upon  the  blue  sea.  One  must  seize  a  propitious 
moment  lest  it  should  slip  away  and  never  return,  I  wrote.  I 
begged  her  to  believe  I  was  acting  for  the  best,  and  only  from  my 
great  love,  that  could  not  support  the  thought  of  her  being  so 
near  O'Brien,  the  arch-enemy  of  our  union.  There  was  no  sepa- 
ration on  the  sea. 

Sebright  came  in  brusquely. 

"  Come  along." 

The  American  brigantine  was  berthed  by  then,  close  astern  of 
the  Lion,  and  Sebright  had  the  idea  of  asking  her  mate  to  let  his 
boat  (it  was  in  the  water)  put  ashore  a  visitor  he  had  on  board. 
His  own  were  hoisted,  he  explained,  and  there  were  no  boatmen 
plying  for  hire. 

His  request  was  granted.  I  was  pulled  ashore  by  two  American 
sailors,  who  never  said  a  word  to  each  other,  and  evidently  took  me 
for  a  Spaniard. 

It  was  an  excellent  idea.  By  borrowing  the  Yankee's  boat,  the 
track  of  my  connection  with  the  Lion  was  covered.  The  silent 
seamen  landed  me,  as  asked  by  Seabright,  near  the  battery  on  the 
sand,  quite  clear  of  the  city. 

I  thanked  them  in  Spanish,  and,  traversing  a  piece  of  open 
ground,  made  a  wide  circle  to  enter  the  town  from  the  land  side, 
to  still  further  cover  my  tracks.  I  passed  through  a  sort  of  squalid 
suburb  of  huts,  hovels,  and  negro  shanties.  I  met  very  few  people, 
and  these  mostly  old  women,  looking  after  the  swarms  of  children 
of  all  colors  and  sizes,  playing  in  the  dust.     Many  curs  sunned 


PART  FOURTH  359 

themselves  among  heaps  of  rubbish,  and  took  not  the  trouble  to 
growl  at  me.  Then  I  came  out  upon  a  highroad,  and  turned  my 
face  towards  the  city  lying  under  a  crude  sunshine,  and  in  a  ring 
of  metallic  vibrations. 

Better  houses  with  plastered  fronts  washed  yellow  or  blue, 
and  even  pinky  red,  alternated  with  tumble-down  wooden  struc- 
tures. A  crenelated  squat  gateway  faced  me  with  a  carved  shield 
of  stone  above  the  open  gloom.  A  young  smooth-faced  mulatto, 
in  some  sort  of  dirty  uniform,  but  wearing  new  straw  slippers 
with  blue  silk  rosettes  over  his  naked  feet,  lounged  cross-legged  at 
the  door  of  a  kind  of  guardroom.  He  held  a  big  cigar  tilted  up 
between  his  teeth,  and  ogled  me,  like  a  woman,  out  of  the  corners 
of  his  languishing  eyes.     He  said  not  a  word. 

Fortunately  my  face  had  tanned  to  a  dark  hue.  Enrico's  clothes 
would  not  attract  attention  to  me,  of  course.  The  light  color  of 
my  hair  was  concealed  by  the  handkerchief  bound  under  my  hat; 
my  footsteps  echoed  loudly  under  the  vault,  and  I  penetrated  into 
the  heart  of  the  city. 

And  directly,  it  seemed  to  me,  I  had  stepped  back  three  hundred 
years.  I  had  never  seen  anything  so  old;  this  was  the  abandoned 
inheritance  of  an  adventurous  race,  that  seemed  to  have  thrown 
all  its  might,  all  its  vigor,  and  all  its  enthusiasm  into  one  supreme 
effort  of  valor  and  greed.  I  had  read  the  history  of  the  Spanish 
Conquest;  and,  looking  at  these  great  walls  of  stone,  I  felt  my 
heart  moved  by  the  same  wonder,  and  by  the  same  sadness.  With 
what  a  fury  of  heroism  and  faith  had  this  whole  people  flung  itself 
upon  the  opulent  mystery  of  the  New  World.  Never  had  a  nation 
clasped  closer  to  its  heart  its  dream  of  greatness,  of  glory,  and  of 
Romance.  There  had  been  a  moment  in  its  destiny,  when  it  could 
believe  that  Heaven  itself  smiled  upon  its  massacres.  I  walked 
slowly,  awed  by  the  solitude.  They  had  conquered  and  were  no 
more,  and  these  wrought  stones  remained  to  testify  gloomily  to  the 
death  of  their  success.  Heavy  houses,  immense  walls,  pointed  arches 
of  the  doorways,  cages  of  iron  bars  projecting  balconywise  around 
each  square  window.  And  not  a  soul  in  sight,  not  a  head  looking 
out  from  these  dwellings,  these  houses  of  men,  these  ancient 
abodes  of  hate,  of  base  rivalries,  of  avarice,  of  ambitions — these  old 
nests  of  love,  these  witnesses  of  a  great  romance  now  past  and 


360  ROMANCE 

gone  below  the  horizon.  They  seemed  to  return  mournfully  my 
wondering  glances;  they  seemed  to  look  at  me  and  say,  "What 
do  you  here?  We  have  seen  other  men,  heard  other  footsteps!  " 
The  peace  of  the  cloister  brooded  over  these  aged  blocks  of 
masonry,  stained  with  the  green  tra«ils  of  mosses,  infiltrated  with 
shadows. 

At  times  the  belfry  of  a  church  would  volley  a  tremendous 
crash  of  bronze  into  the  narrow  streets ;  and  between  whiles  I  could 
hear  the  faint  echoes  of  far-off  chanting,  the  brassy  distant  gasps 
of  trombones.  A  woman  in  black  whisked  round  a  corner,  hurry- 
ing towards  the  route  of  the  procession.  I  took  the  same  direction. 
From  a  wine-shop,  yawning  like  a  dirty  cavern  in  the  basement  of 
a  palatial  old  building,  issued  suddenly  a  brawny  ruflian  in  rags, 
wiping  his  thick  beard  with  the  back  of  a  hairy  paw.  He  lurched 
a  little,  and  began  to  walk  before  me  hastily.  I  noticed  the  glitter 
of  a  gold  earring  in  the  lobe  of  his  huge  ear. 

His  cloak  was  frayed  at  the  bottom  into  a  perfect  fringe  and, 
as  he  flung  it  about,  he  showed  a  good  deal  of  naked  skin  under  it. 
His  calves  were  bandaged  cross-wise;  his  peaked  hat  seemed  to 
have  been  trodden  upon  in  filth  before  he  had  put  it  on  his  head. 
Suddenly  I  stopped  short.    A  Lugareho! 

We  were  then  in  the  empty  part  of  a  narrow  street,  whose 
lower  end  was  packed  close  with  a  crowd  viewing  the  procession 
which  was  filing  slowly  past,  along  the  wide  thoroughfare.  It  was 
too  late  for  me  to  go  back.  Moreover,  the  ruffian  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  me.  It  was  best  to  go  on.  The  people,  packed  between 
the  houses  with  their  backs  to  us,  blocked  our  way.  I  had  to 
wait. 

He  took  his  position  near  me  in  the  rear  of  the  last  rank  of  the 
crowd.  He  must  have  been  inclined  to  repentance  in  his  cups, 
because  he  began  to  mumble  and  beat  his  breast.  Other  people 
in  the  crowd  were  also  beating  their  breasts.  In  front  of  me  I 
had  the  fagade  of  a  building  which,  according  to  the  little  plan 
of  my  route  Sebright  drew  for  me,  was  the  Palace  of  Justice.  It 
had  a  peristyle  of  ugly  columns  at  the  top  of  a  flight  of  steps. 
A  cordon  of  infantry  kept  the  roadway  clear.  The  singing  went 
on  without  interruption;  and  I  saw  tall  saints  of  wood,  gilt  and 
painted   red   and   blue,   pass,   borne   shoulder-high,   swaying   and 


PART  FOURTH  361 

pitching  above  the  heads  of  the  crowd  like  the  masts  of  boats  in 
a  seaway.  Crucifixes  were  carried,  flashing  in  the  sun;  an  enor- 
mous Madonna,  which  must  have  weighed  half  a  ton,  tottered 
across  my  line  of  sight,  dressed  up  in  gold  brocade  and  with  a 
wreath  of  paper  roses  on  her  head.  A  military  band  sent  a  hurri- 
cane blast  of  brasses  as  it  went  by.  Then  all  was  still  at  once, 
except  the  silvery  tinkling  of  hand-bells.  The  people  before  me 
fell  on  their  knees  together  and  left  me  standing  up  alone. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  I  had  been  caught  gaping  at  the  ceremony 
quite  new  to  me,  and  had  not  expected  a  move  of  that  sort.  The 
ruffian  kneeling  within  a  foot  of  me  thumped  and  bellowed  in  an 
ecstasy  of  piety.  As  to  me,  I  own  I  stood  there  looking  with  im- 
patience at  a  passing  canopy  that  seemed  all  gold,  with  three  priests 
in  gorgeous  capes  walking  slowly  under  it,  and  I  absolutely  forgot 
to  take  off  my  hat.  The  bearded  ruffian  looked  up  from  the 
midst  of  his  penitential  exercises,  and  before  I  realized  I  was 
outraging  his  or  anybody  else's  feelings,  leaped  up  with  a  yell, 
"  Thou  sacrilegious  infidel,"  and  sent  my  hat  flying  off  my  head. 

Just  then  the  band  crashed  again,  the  bells  pealed  out,  and  no 
one  heard  his  shout.  With  one  blow  of  my  fist  I  sent  him  stagger- 
ing backwards.  The  procession  had  passed ;  people  were  rising 
from  their  knees  and  pouring  out  of  the  narrow  street.  Swearing, 
he  fumbled  under  his  cloak;  I  watched  him  narrowly;  but  in  a 
moment  he  sprang  away  and  lost  himself  amongst  the  moving 
crowd.     I  picked  up  my  hat. 

For  a  time  I  stood  very  uneasy,  and  then  retreated  under  a 
doorway.  Nothing  happened,  and  I  was  anxious  to  get  on.  It 
was  possible  to  cross  the  wide  street  now.  That  Lugareno  did  not 
know  me.  He  was  a  Lugareho,  though.  No  doubt  about  it.  I 
would  make  a  dash  now ;  but  first  I  stole  a  hasty  glance  at  the  plan 
of  my  route  which  I  kept  in  the  hollow  of  my  palm. 

"  Senor,"  said  a  voice.    I  lifted  my  head. 

An  elderly  man  in  black,  with  a  white  mustache  and  imperial, 
stood  before  me.  The  ruffian  was  stalking  up  to  his  side,  and  four 
soldiers  with  an  officer  were  coming  behind.  I  took  in  the  whole 
disaster  at  a  glance. 

"  The  senor  is  no  doubt  a  foreigner — perhaps  an  Englishman," 
said  the  official  in  black.     He  had  a  lace  collar,  a  chain  on  his 


362  ROMANCE 

neck,  velvet  breeches,  a  well-turned  leg  in  black  stockings.  His 
voice  was  soft. 

I  was  so  disconcerted  that  I  nodded  at  him. 

"  The  senor  is  young  and  inconsiderate.  Religious  feelings 
ought  to  be  respected."  The  official  in  black  was  addressing  me 
in  sad  and  measured  tones.  "  This  good  Catholic,"  he  continued, 
eying  the  bearded  ruffian  dubiously,  "  has  made  a  formal  statement 
to  me  of  your  impious  demonstration." 

What  a  fatal  accident,  I  thought,  appalled;  but  I  tried  to 
explain  the  matter.  I  expressed  regret.  The  other  gazed  at  me 
benevolently. 

"  Nevertheless,  senor,  pray  follow  me.  Even  for  your  own 
safety.     You  must  give  some  account  of  yourself." 

This  I  was  firmly  resolved  not  to  give.  But  the  Lugareno  had 
been  going  through  a  pantomime  of  scrutinizing  my  person.  He 
crouched  up,  stepped  back,  then  to  one  side. 

"  This  worthy  man,"  began  the  official  in  black,  "  complains  of 
your  violence,  too.  .  .  ." 

"  This  worthy  man,"  I  shouted  stupidly,  "  is  a  pirate.  He  is 
a  Rio  Medio  Lugareno.     He  is  a  criminal." 

The  official  seemed  astounded,  and  I  saw  my  idiotic  mistake 
at  once — too  late! 

"  Strange,"  he  murmured,  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  ruffianly 
wretch  began  to  shout: 

"  It  is  he!    The  traitor!    The  heretic!     I  recognize  him!  " 

"  Peace,  peace!  "  said  the  man  in  black. 

"  I  demand  to  be  taken  before  the  Juez  Don  Patricio  for  a 
deposition,"  shrieked  the  Lugareno.  A  crowd  was  beginning  to 
collect. 

The  official  and  the  officer  exchanged  consulting  glances.  At 
a  word  from  the  latter,  the  soldiers  closed  upon  me. 

I  felt  utterly  overcome,  as  if  the  earth  had  crumbled  under  my 
feet,  and  the  heavens  had  been  rent  in  twain.  I  walked  between 
my  captors  across  the  street  amongst  hooting  knots  of  people,  and 
up  the  steps  of  the  portico,  as  If  In  a  frightful  dream. 

In  the  gloomy,  chilly  hall  they  made  me  wait.  A  soldier  stood 
on  each  side  of  me,  and  there,  absolutely  before  my  eyes  on  a 
little  table,   reposed   Mrs.   Williams'   shawl   and   Sebright's   cap. 


PART  FOURTH  363 

This  was  the  very  hall  of  the  Palace  of  Justice  of  which  Sebright 
had  spoken.  It  was  more  than  ever  like  an  absurd  dream,  now. 
But  I  had  the  leisure  to  collect  my  wits.  I  could  not  claim  the 
Consul's  protection  simply  because  I  should  have  to  give  him  a 
truthful  account  of  myself,  and  that  would  mean  giving  up  Sera- 
phina.  The  Consul  could  not  protect  her.  But  the  Lion  would 
sail  on  the  morrow.  Sebright  would  understand  it  if  Williams 
did  not.  I  trusted  Sebright's  sagacity.  Yes,  she  would  sail  to- 
morrow evening.  A  day  and  a  half.  If  I  could  only  keep  the 
knowledge  of  Seraphina  from  O'Brien  till  then — she  was  safe,  and 
I  should  be  safe,  too,  for  my  lips  would  be  unsealed.  I  could 
claim  the  protection  of  my  Consul  and  proclaim  the  villainy  of 
the  Juez. 

"  Go  in  there  now,  senor,  to  be  confronted  with  your  accuser," 
said  the  official  in  black,  appearing  before  me.  He  pointed  at  a 
small  door  to  the  left.  My  heart  was  beating  steadily.  I  felt 
a  sort  of  intrepid  resignation. 


PART  FIFTH 

THE  LOT  OF  MAN 

CHAPTER  I 

WHY  have  I  been  brought  here,  your  worships?"  I 
asked,  with  a  great  deal  of  firmness. 
There  were  two  figures  in  black,  the  one  beside,  the 
other  behind  a  large  black  table.  I  was  placed  in  front  of  them, 
between  two  soldiers,  in  the  center  of  a  large,  gaunt  room,  with 
bare,  dirty  walls,  and  the  arms  of  Spain  above  the  judge's 
seat, 

"  You  are  before  the  Juez  de  la  Primiera  Instancia"  said  the 
man  in  black  beside  the-  table.  He  wore  a  large  and  shadowy 
tiicorn.    "  Be  silent,  and  respect  the  procedure." 

It  was,  without  doubt,  excellent  advice.  He  whispered  some 
words  in  the  ear  of  the  Judge  of  the  First  Instance.  It  was  plain 
enough  to  me  that  the  judge  was  a  quite  inferior  official,  who 
merely  decided  whether  there  were  any  case  against  the  accused; 
he  had,  even  to  his  clerk,  an  air  of  timidity,  of  doubt. 

I  said,  '■  But  I  insist  on  knowing.   .   .   ." 

The  clerk  said,  "  In  good  time.  .  .  ."  And  then,  in  the  same 
tone  of  disinterested  official  routine,  he  spoke  to  the  Lugareno, 
who,  from  beside  the  door,  rolled  very  frightened  eyes  from  the 
judges  and  the  clerk  to  myself  and  the  soldiers — "  Advance." 

The  judge,  in  a  hurried,  perfunctory  voice,  put  questions  to  the 
Lugareno;  the  clerk  scratched  with  a  large  quill  on  a  sheet  of 
paper. 

"  Where  do  you  come  from?  " 

"  The  town  of  Rio  Medio,  excellency." 

"  Of  what  occupation?  " 

"  Excellency — a  few  goats.  .  .  ." 

"  Why  are  you  here  ?  " 

365 


366  ROMANCE 

"  My  daughter,  excellency,  married  Pepe  of  the  posada  in  the 
Calle.  .  .  ." 

The  judge  said,  "  Yes,  yes,"  with  an  unsanguine  impatience. 
The  Lugareho's  dirty  hands  jumped  nervously  on  the  large  rim 
of  his  limp  hat. 

"  You  lodge  a  complaint  against  the  senor  there." 

The  clerk  pointed  the  end  of  his  quill  towards  me. 

"  I  ?  God  forbid,  excellency,"  the  Lugareho  bleated.  "  The 
Alguazil  of  the  Criminal  Court  instructed  me  to  be  watch- 
ful.  .  .   ." 

"You  lodge  an  information,  then?  "  the  Juez  said^ 

"  Maybe  it  is  an  information,  excellency,"  the  Lugareno  an- 
swered, "  as  regards  the  senor  there." 

The  Alguazil  of  the  Criminal  Court  had  told  him,  and  many 
other  men  of  Rio  Medio,  to  be  on  the  watch  for  me,  "  undoubtedly 
touching  what  had  happened,  as  all  the  world  knew,  in  Rio 
Medio." 

He  looked  me  full  in  the  face  with  stupid  insolence,  and  said: 

"  At  first  I  much  doubted,  for  all  the  world  said  this  man  was 
dead — though  others  said  worse  things.     Perhaps,  who  knows  ?  " 

He  had  seen  me,  he  said,  many  times  in  Rio  Medio,  outside  the 
Casa;  on  the  balcony  of  the  Casa,  too.  And  he  was  sure  that  I 
was  a  heretic  and  an  evil  person. 

It  suddenly  struck  me  that  this  man — I  was  undoubtedly 
familiar  with  his  face — must  be  the  lieutenant  of  Manuel-del- 
Popolo,  his  boon  companion.  Without  doubt,  he  had  seen  me  on 
the  balcony  of  the  Casa. 

He  had  gained  a  lot  of  assurance  from  the  conciliatory  manner 
of  the  Juez,  and  said  suddenly,  in  a  tentative  way : 

"An  evil  person;  a  heretic?  Who  knows?  Perhaps  it  was 
he  who  incited  some  people  there  to  murder  his  senoria,  the  illus- 
trious Don." 

I  said  almost  contemptuously,  "  Surely  the  charge  against  me 
is  most  absurd?    Everyone  knows  who  I  am." 

The  old  judge  made  a  gentle,  tired  motion  with  his  hand. 

"  Senor,"  he  said,  "  there  is  no  charge  against  you — except  that 
no  one  knows  who  you  are.  You  were  in  a  place  where  very 
lamentable  and  inexplicable  things  happened;  you  are  now  in 


PART  FIFTH  367 

Havana:  you  have  no  passport.  I  beg  of  you  to  remain  calm. 
These  things  are  all  in  order." 

I  hadn't  any  doubt  that,  as  far  as  he  knew,  he  was  speaking  the 
truth.  He  was  a  man,  very  evidently,  of  a  weary  and  naive  sim- 
plicity. Perhaps  it  was  really  true — that  I  should  only  have  to 
explain ;  perhaps  it  was  all  over. 

O'Brien  came  into  the  room  with  the  casual  step  of  an  official 
from  an  office  entering  another's  room. 

It  was  as  if  seeing  me  were  a  thing  that  he  very  much  disliked 
— at  that  he  came  because  he  wanted  to  satisfy  himself  of  my  ex- 
istence, of  my  identity,  and  my  being  alone.  The  slow  stare  that 
he  gave  me  did  not  mitigate  the  leisureliness  of  his  entry.  He 
walked  behind  the  table;  the  judge  rose  with  immense  deference; 
with  his  eternal  smile,  and  no  word  spoken,  he  motioned  the  judge 
to  resume  the  examination;  he  stood  looking  at  the  clerk's  notes 
meditatively,  the  smile  still  round  lips  that  had  a  nervous  tremble, 
and  eyes  that  had  dark  marks  beneath  them.  He  seemed  as  if 
he  were  still  smiling  just  after  having  been  violently  shaken. 

The  judge  went  on  examining  the  Lugareho. 

"  Do  you  know  whence  the  senor  came?  " 

"  Excellency,  excellency.  .  .  ."  The  man  stuttered,  his  eyes 
on  O'Brien's  face. 

"  Nor  how  long  he  was  in  the  town  of  Rio  Medio?  "  the  judge 
went  on. 

O'Brien  suddenly  drooped  towards  his  ear.  "  All  those  things 
are  known,  senor,  my  colleague,"  he  said,  and  began  to  whisper. 

The  old  judge  showed  signs  of  very  naive  astonishment  and  joy. 

"Is  it  possible?"  he  exclaimed.  "This  man?  He  is  very 
young  to  have  committed  such  crimes." 

The  clerk  hurriedly  left  the  room.  He  returned  with  many 
papers,  O'Brien,  leaning  over  the  judge's  shoulder,  emphasized 
words  with  one  finger.  What  new  villainies  could  O'Brien  be 
meditating?  It  wasn't  possibly  the  Lugareiio's  suggestion  that  I 
had  lured  men  to  murder  Don  Balthasar?  Was  it  merely  that  I 
had  infringed  some  law  in  carrying  off  Seraphina? 

The  old  judge  said,  "  How  lucky,  Don  Patricio!  We  may 
now  satisfy  the  English  admiral.    What  good  fortune!  " 

He  suddenly  sat  straight  in  his  chair;   O'Brien   behind   him 


368  ROMANCE 

scrutinizing  my  face — to  see  how  I  should  bear  what  was 
coming. 

"  What  is  your  name?  "  the  judge  asked  peremptorily. 

I  said,  "Juan — John  Kemp.  I  am  of  noble  English  family;  I 
am  well  enough  known.    Ask  the  Senor  O'Brien." 

On  O'Brien's  shaken  face  the  smile  hardened. 

"  I  heard  that  in  Rio  Medio  the  senor  was  called  .  ,  .  was 
called   .   .   ."    He  paused  and  appealed  to  the  Lugareho. 

"  What  was  he  called — the  capataz,  the  man  who  led  the  pica- 
roons? " 

The  Lugareno  stammered,  "  Nikola  .  .  .  Nikola  el  Escoces, 
Senor  Don  Patricio." 

"  You  hear?  "  O'Brien  asked  the  judge.  "  This  villager  identi- 
fies the  man." 

"  Undoubtedly — undoubtedly,"  the  Juez  said.  "  We  need  no 
more  evidence.  .  .  .  You,  senor,  have  seen  this  villain  in  Rio 
Medio,  this  villager  identifies  him  by  name." 

I  said,  "  This  is  absurd.  A  hundred  witnesses  can  say  that  I 
am  John  Kemp.  .  .  ." 

"  That  may  be  true,"  the  Juez  said  dryly,  and  then  to  his 
clerk : 

"  Write  here,  '  John  Kemp,  of  noble  British  family,  called,  on 
the  scene  of  his  crimes,  Nikola  el  Escoces,  otherwise  El  De- 
monic' " 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  I  did  not,  at  the  moment,  realize  to 
what  this  all  tended. 

The  judge  said  to  the  clerk,  "  Read  the  Act  of  Accusation. 
Read  here.  .  .  ."  He  was  pointing  to  a  paragraph  of  the  papers 
the  clerk  had  brought  in.  They  were  the  Act  of  Accusation,  pre- 
pared long  before,  against  the  man  Nichols. 

This  particular  villainy  suddenly  became  grotesquely  and  por- 
tentously plain.  The  clerk  read  an  appalling  catalogue  of  sordid 
crimes,  working  into  each  other  like  kneaded  dough — the  testi- 
mony of  witnesses  who  had  signed  the  record.  Nikola  had  looted 
fourteen  ships,  and  had  apparently  murdered  twenty-two  people 
with  his  own  hand — two  of  them  women — and  there  was  the 
affair  of  Rowley's  boats.  "  The  pinnace,"  the  clerk  read,  "  of 
the  British  came  within  ten  yards.     The  said  Nikola  then  ex- 


PART  FIFTH  369 

claimed,  '  Curse  the  bloodthirsty  hounds,'  and  fired  the  grape- 
shot  into  the  boat.  Seven  were  killed  by  that  discharge.  This  I 
saw  with  my  own  eyes.  .  .  .  Signed,  Isidoro  Alemanno."  And 
another  swore,  "  The  said  Nikola  was  below,  but  he  came  running 
up,  and  with  one  blow  of  his  knife  severed  the  throat  of  the  man 
who  was  kneeling  on  the  deck.   ..." 

There  was  no  doubt  that  Nikola  had  committed  these  crimes; 
that  the  witnesses  had  sworn  to  them  and  signed  the  deposition. 
.  .  .  The  old  judge  had  evidently  never  seen  him,  and  now 
O'Brien  and  the  Lugareho  had  sworn  that  I  was  Nikola  el 
Escoces,  alias  El  Demonio. 

My  first  impulse  was  to  shout  with  rage;  but  I  checked  it  be- 
cause I  knew  I  should  be  silenced.    I  said: 

"  I  am  not  Nikola  el  Escoces.    That  I  can  easily  prove." 

The  Judge  of  the  First  Instance  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
looked,  with  implicit  trust,  up  into  O'Brien's  face. 

"  That  man,"  I  pointed  at  the  Lugareho,  "  is  a  pirate.  And, 
what  is  more,  he  is  in  the  pay  of  the  Senor  Juez  O'Brien.  He 
was  the  lieutenant  of  a  man  called  Manuel-del-Popolo,  who  com- 
manded the  Lugarehos  after  Nikola  left  Rio  Medio." 

"  You  know  very  much  about  the  pirates,"  the  Juez  said,  with 
the  sardonic  air  of  a  very  stupid  man.  "  Without  doubt  you  were 
intimate  with  them.  I  sign  now  your  order  for  committal  to  the 
carcel  of  the  Marine  Court." 

I  said,  "  But  I  tell  you  I  am  not  Nikola.   .   .   ." 

The  Juez  said  impassively,  "  You  pass  out  of  my  hands  into 
those  of  the  Marine  Court.  I  am  satisfied  that  you  are  a  person 
deserving  of  a  trial.    That  is  the  limit  of  my  responsibility." 

I  shouted  then,  "  But  I  tell  you  this  O'Brien  is  my  personal 
enemy." 

The  old  man  smiled  acidly. 

"  The  senor  need  fear  nothing  of  our  courts.  He  will  be 
handed  over  to  his  own  countrymen.  Without  doubt  of  them 
he  will  obtain  justice."  He  signed  to  the  Lugareho  to  go,  and 
rose,  gathering  up  his  papers;  he  bowed  to  O'Brien.  "  I  leave  the 
criminal  at  the  disposal  of  your  worship,"  he  said,  and  went  out 
with  his  clerk. 

O'Brien  sent  out  the  two  soldiers  after  him,  and  stood  there 


370  ROMANCE 

alone.  He  had  never  been  so  near  his  death.  But  for  sheer  curi- 
osity, for  my  sheer  desire  to  know  what  he  could  say,  I  would 
have  smashed  in  his  brains  with  the  clerk's  stool.  I  was  going  to 
do  it ;  I  made  one  step  towards  the  stool.  Then  I  saw  that  he  was 
crying. 

"  The  curse^ — the  curse  of  Cromwell  on  you,"  he  sobbed  sud- 
denly. "  You  send  me  back  to  hell  again."  He  writhed  his  whole 
body.  "  Sorrow!  "  he  said,  "  I  know  it.  But  what's  this?  What's 
thisf  " 

The  many  reasons  he  had  for  sorrow  flashed  on  me  like  a  pro- 
cession of  somber  images. 

"  Dead  and  done  with  a  man  can  bear,"  he  muttered.  "  But 
this — Not  to  know — perhaps  alive — perhaps  hidden — She  may  be 
dead.  .  .  ."  With  a  change  like  a  flash  he  was  commanding 
me. 

"  Tell  me  how  you  escaped." 

I  had  a  vague  inspiration  of  the  truth. 

"  You  aren't  fit  for  a  decent  man's  speaking  to,"  I  said. 

"  You  let  her  drown." 

It  gave  me  suddenly  the  measure  of  his  ignorance;  he  did  not 
know  anything — nothing.  His  hell  was  uncertainty.  Well,  let 
him  stay  there. 

"  Where  is  she?  "  he  said.    "  Where  is  she?  " 

"  Where  she's  no  need  to  fear  you,"  I  answered. 

He  had  a  sudden  cohvulsive  gesture,  as  if  searching  for  a 
weapon. 

"  H  you'll  tell  me  she's  alive   .   .   ."  he  began. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  dead,"  I  answered. 

"  Never  a  drowned  puppy  was  more,"  he  said,  with  a  flash  of 
vivacity.  "  You  hang  here — for  murder — or  in  England  for 
piracy." 

"  Then  I've  little  to  want  to  live  for,"  I  sneered  at  him. 

"  You  let  her  drown,"  he  said.  "  You  took  her  from  that 
house,  a  young  girl,  in  a  little  boat.  And  you  can  hold  up  your 
head." 

"  I  was  trying  to  save  her  from  you,"  I  answered. 

"  By  God,"  he  said.  "  These  English — I've  seen  them,  spit  the 
child  on  the  mother's  breast.    I've  seen  them  set  fire  to  the  thatch 


PART  FIFTH  371 

of  the  widow  and  childless.  But  this.  .  .  .  But  this.  ...  I 
can  save  you,  I  tell  you." 

"  You  can't  make  me  go  through  worse  than  I've  borne,"  I 
answered.  Sorrow  and  all  he  might  wish  on  my  head,  my  life 
was  too  precious  to  him  till  I  spoke.     I  wasn't  going  to  speak, 

"  I'll  search  every  ship  in  the  harbor,"  he  said  passionately. 

"  Do,"  I  said.     "  Bring  your  Lugarenos  to  the  task." 

Upon  the  whole,  I  wasn't  much  afraid.  Unless  he  got  definite 
evidence  he  couldn't — in  the  face  of  the  consul's  protests,  and  the 
presence  of  the  admiral — touch  the  Lion  again.  He  fixed  his  eyes 
intently  upon  me. 

"  You  came  in  the  American  brigantine,"  he  said.  "  It's  known 
you  landed  in  her  boat." 

I  didn't  answer  him;  it  was  plain  enough  that  the  drogher's 
arrival  had  either  not  been  reported  to  him,  or  it  had  been  searched 
in  vain. 

"  In  her  boat,"  he  repeated.  "  I  tell  you  I  know  she  is  not 
dead;  even  you,  an  Englishman,  must  have  a  different  face  if  she 
were." 

"  I  don't  at  least  ask  you  for  life,"  I  said,  "to  enjoy  with 
her." 

"  She's  alive,"  he  said.  "Alive!  As  for  where,  it  matters  little. 
I'll  search  every  inch  of  the  island,  every  road,  every  hacienda. 
You  don't  realize  my  power." 

"  Then  search  the  bottom  of  the  sea,"  I  shouted. 

"  Let's  look  at  the  matter  in  the  right  light." 

He  had  mastered  his  grief,  his  incertitude.  He  was  himself 
again,  and  the  smile  had  returned,  as  if  at  the  moment  he  forced 
his  features  to  their  natural  lines. 

"  Send  one  of  your  friars  to  heaven — you'll  never  go  there 
yourself  to  meet  her." 

"  If  you  will  tell  me  she's  alive,  I'll  save  you." 

I  made  a  mute,  obstinate  gesture. 

"If  she's  alive,  and  you  don't  tell  me,  I  can't  but  find  her. 
And  I'll  make  you  know  the  agonies  of  suspense — a  long  way 
from  here." 

I  was  silent. 

"  If  she's  dead,  and  you'll  tell  me,  I'll  save  you  some  trouble. 


372  ROMANCE 

If  she's  dead  and  you  don't,  you'll  have  your  own  remorse  and  the 
rest,  too." 

I  said,  "  You're  too  Irish  mysterious  for  me  to  understand. 
But  you've  a  choice  of  four  evils  for  me — choose  yourself." 

He  continued  with  a  quivering,  taut  good-humor.  "  Prove 
to  me  she's  dead,  and  I'll  let  you  die  sharply  and  mercifully." 

"  You  won't  believe!  "  I  said;  but  he  took  no  notice. 

"  I  tell  you  plainly,"  he  smiled.  "  If  we  find  ...  if  we  find 
her  dear  body — and  I  can't  help  but,  I've  men  on  the  watch  all 
along  the  shores — I'll  give  you  up  to  your  admiral  for  a  pirate. 
You'll  have  a  long  slow  agony  of  a  trial;  I  know  what  English 
justice  is.     And  a  disgraceful  felon's  death." 

I  was  thinking  that,  in  any  case,  a  day  or  so  might  be  gained, 
the  Lion  would  be  gone;  they  could  not  touch  her  while  the  flag- 
ship remained  outside.  I  certainly  didn't  want  to  be  given  up  to 
the  admiral ;  I  might  explain  the  mistaken  identity.  But  there  was 
the  charge  of  treason  in  Jamaica.     I  said: 

"  I  only  ask  to  be  given  up;  but  you  daren't  do  it  for  your  own 
credit.     I  can  show  you  up." 

He  said,  "  Make  no  mistake!  If  he  gets  you,  he'll  hang  you. 
He's  going  home  in  disgrace.  Your  whole  blundering  Govern- 
ment will  work  to  hang  you." 

"  They  know  pretty  well,"  I  answered,  "  that  there  are  queer 
doings-  in  Havana.  I  promise  you  I'll  clear  things  up.  I  know 
too  much.   ..." 

He  said,  with  a  sudden,  intense  note  of  passion,  "  Only  tell  me 
where  her  grave  is,  I'll  let  you  go  free.  You  couldn't,  you  dare 
not,  dastard  that  you  are,  go  away  from  where  she  died — without 
.  .   .  without  making  sure." 

"  Then  search  all  the  new  graves  in  the  island,"  I  said,  "  I'll 
tell  you  nothing.   ,  .   .    Nothing!  " 

He  came  at  m.e  again  and  again,  but  I  never  spoke  after  that. 
He  made  all  the  issues  clearer  and  clearer — his  own  side  involun- 
tarily and  all  the  griefs  I  had  to  expect.  As  for  him,  he  dare  not 
kill  me — and  he  dare  not  give  me  up  to  the  admiral.  In  his 
suspense,  since,  for  him,  I  was  the  only  person  in  the  world  who 
knew  Seraphina's  fate-,  he  dare  not  let  me  out  of  his  grip.  And 
all  the  while  he  had  me  he  must  keep  the  admiral  there,  waiting 


PART  FIFTH  373 

for  the  surrender  either  of  myself  or  of  some  other  poor  devil 
whom  he  might  palm  off  as  Nikola  el  Escoces.  While  the  ad- 
miral was  there  the  Lion  was  pretty  safe  from  molestation,  and 
she  would  sail  pretty  soon. 

At  the  same  time,  except  for  the  momentary  sheer  joy  of  tor- 
menting a  man  whom  I  couldn't  help  regarding  as  a  devil,  I  had 
more  than  enough  to  fear.  I  had  suffered  too  much;  I  wanted 
rest,  woman's  love,  slackening  off.  And  here  was  another  endless 
coil — endless.  If  it  didn't  end  in  a  knife  in  the  back,  he  might 
keep  me  for  ages  in  Havana;  or  he  might  get  me  sent  to  England, 
where  it  would  take  months,  an  endless  time,  to  prove  merely  that 
I  wasn't  Nikola  el  Escoces.  I  should  prove  it;  but,  in  the  mean- 
time, what  would  become  of  Seraphina?  Would  she  follow  me 
to  England?  Would  she  even  know  that  I  had  gone  there?  Or 
would  she  think  me  dead  and  die  herself?  O'Brien  knew  nothing; 
his  spies  might  report  a  hundred  uncertainties.  He  was  standing 
rigidly  still  now,  as  if  afraid  to  move  for  fear  of  breaking  down. 
He  said  suddenly: 

"  You  came  in  some  ship ;  you  can't  deceive  me,  I  shall  have 
them  all  searched  again." 

I  said  desperately,  "  Search  and  be  damned — whatever  ships 
you  like." 

"  You  cold,  pitiless,  English  scoundrel,"  he  shrieked  suddenly. 
The  breaking  down  of  his  restraint  had  let  him  go  right  into 
madness.  "You  have  murdered  her.  You  cared  nothing;  you 
came  from  nowhere.  A  beggarly  fool,  too  stupid  to  be  ever  an 
adventurer.  A  miserable  blunderer,  coming  in  blind ;  coming  out 
blind ;  and  leaving  ruin  and  worse  than  hell.  What  good  have  ycu 
done  yourself  ?  What  could  you  ?  What  did  you  see  ?  What  did 
you  hope?  .  .  .  Sorrow?  Ruin?  Death?  I  am  acquainted  with 
them.  It  is  in  the  blood;  'tis  in  the  tone;  in  the  entrails  of  us 
in  our  mother's  milk.  Your  accursed  land  has  brought  always 
that  on  our  own  dear  and  sorrowful  country.  .  .  .  You  waste, 
you  ruin,  you  spoil.  What  for?  .  .  .  Tell  me  what  for?  Tell 
me?  Tell  me?  What  did  you  gain?  What  will  you  ever  gain? 
An  unending  curse !   .   .   .    But,  ah,  ye've  no  souls." 

He  called  very  loudly,  as  if  with  a  passionate  relief,  his  voice 
giving  life  to  an  unsuspected,  misgiving  echo: 


374  ROMANCE 

"Guards!     Soldiers!   .   .   .    You  shall  be  shot,  now !  " 

He  was  going  to  cut  the  knot  that  way.  Two  soldiers  pushed 
the  door  noisily  open,  their  muskets  advanced.  He  took  no  notice 
of  them;  and  they  retained  an  attitude  of  military  stupidity,  their 
eyes  upon  him.     He  whispered: 

"No,  no!     Not  yet!" 

Then  he  looked  at  me  searchingly,  as  if  he  still  hoped  to  get 
some  certainty  from  my  face,  some  inkling,  perhaps  some  inspira- 
tion of  what  would  persuade  me  to  speak.  Then  he  shook  his 
wrists  violently,  as  if  in  fear  of  himself. 

"Take  him  away,"  he  said.  "Away!  Out  of  reach  of  my 
hands.     Out  of  reach  of  my  hands." 

I  was  trembling  a  good  deal ;  when  the  soldiers  entered  I 
thought  I  had  got  to  my  last  minute.  But,  as  it  was,  he  had  not 
learnt  a  thing  of  me.  Not  a  thing.  And  I  did  not  see  where  else 
he  could  go  for  information. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  entrance  to  the  common  prison  of  Havana  was  a  sort 
of  lofty  tunnel,  finished  by  great,  iron-rusted,  wooden 
gates.  A  civil  guard  was  exhibiting  the  judge's  warrant 
for  my  committal  to  a  white-haired  man,  with  a  red  face  and  blue 
eyes,  that  seemed  to  look  through  tumbled  bushes  of  silver  eye- 
brows— the  alcayde  of  the  prison.  He  bowed,  and  rattled  two 
farcically  large  keys,  A  practicable  postern  was  ajar  on  the  yellow 
wood  of  the  studded  gates.  It  was  as  if  it  afforded  a  glimpse  of 
the  other  side  of  the  world.  The  venerable  turnkey,  a  gnome  in 
a  steeple-crowned  hat,  protruded  a  blood-red  hand  backwards  in 
the  direction  of  the  postern. 

"  Senor  Caballero,"  he  croaked,  "  I  pray  you  to  consider  this 
house  your  own.    My  servants  are  yours." 

Within  was  a  gravel  yard,  shut  in  by  portentous  lead -white 
house-sides  with  black  window  holes.  Under  each  row  of  windows 
was  a  vast  vaulted  tunnel,  caged  with  iron  bars,  for  all  the  world 
like  beasts'  dens.  It  being  day,  the  beasts  were  out  and  lounging 
about  the  patio.  They  had  an  effect  of  infinite  tranquillity,  as  if 
they  were  ladies  and  gentlemen  parading  in  a  Sunday  avenue. 
Perhaps  twenty  of  them,  in  snowy  white  shirts  and  black  velvet 
knee-breeches,  strutted  like  pigeons  in  a  knot,  some  with  one 
woman  on  the  arm,  some  with  two.  Bundles  of  variegated  rags  lay 
against  the  walls,  as  if  they  were  sweepings.  Well,  they  were  the 
sweepings  of  Havana  jail.  The  men  in  white  and  black  were  the 
great  thieves  .  .  .  and  there  were  children,  too — the  place  was 
the  city  orphanage.  lor  the  fifth  part  of  a  second  my  advent 
made  no  difference.  Then,  at  the  far  end,  one  of  the  men  in 
black  and  white  separated  himself,  and  came  swiftly  to  me  across 
the  sunny  patio.  The  others  followed  slowly,  with  pea-fowl  steps, 
their  women  hanging  to  them  and  whispering.  The  bundles  of 
rags  rose  up  towards  me ;  others  slunk  furtively  out  of  the  barred 
dens.     The  man  who  was  approaching  had  the  head  of  a  Julius 

375 


376  ROMANCE 

Caesar  of  fifty,  for  all  the  world  as  if  he  had  stolen  a  bust  and 
endowed  it  with  yellow  skin  and  stubby  gray  and  silver  hair.  He 
saluted  me  with  intense  gravity,  and  an  imperial  glance  of  yellow 
eyes  along  a  hooked  nose.  His  linen  was  the  most  spotless  broid- 
ered  and  embossed  stuff;  from  the  crimson  scarf  round  his  waist 
protruded  the  shagreen  and  silver  handle  of  a  long  dagger.  He 
said: 

"  Seiior,  I  have  the  honor  to  salute  you.  I  am  Crisostomo 
Garcia.    I  ask  the  courtesy  of  your  trousers." 

I  did  not  answer  him.  I  did  not  see  what  he  wanted  with  my 
trousers,  which  weren't  anyway  as  valuable  as  his  own.  The 
others  were  closing  in  on  me  like  a  solid  wall.  I  leant  back 
against  the  gate;  I  was  not  frightened,  but  I  was  mightily  excited. 
The  man  like  Caesar  looked  fiercely  at  me,  swayed  a  long  way 
back  on  his  haunches,  and  imperiously  motioned  the  crowd  to 
recede. 

"  Senor  Inglesito,"  he  said,  "  the  gift  I  have  the  honor  to  ask  of 
you  is  the  price  of  my  protection.  Without  it  these,  my  brothers, 
will  tear  you  limb  from  limb,  there  will  nothing  of  you  remain." 

His  brothers  set  up  a  stealthy,  sinister  growl,  that  went  round 
among  the  heads  like  the  mutter  of  an  obscene  echo  among  the 
mountain-tops.  I  wondered  whether  this,  perhaps,  was  the  man 
who,  O'Brien  said,  would  put  a  knife  in  my  back.  I  hadn't  any 
knife;  I  might  knock  the  fellow's  teeth  down  his  throat,  though. 

The  alcayde  thrust  his.  immense  hat,  blood-red  face,  and  long, 
ragged,  silver  locks  out  of  the  little  door.  His  features  were 
convulsed  with  indignation.  He  had  been  whispering  with  the 
Civil  Guard. 

"Are  you  mad,  gentlemen?"  he  said.  "  Do  you  wish  to  visit 
hell  before  your  times?  Do  you  know  who  the  senor  is?  Did  you 
ever  hear  of  Carlos  el  Demonio?  This  is  the  Inglesito  of  Rio 
Medio!" 

It  was  plain  that  my  deeds,  such  as  they  were,  reported  by 
O'Brien  spies,  by  the  Lugareiios,  by  all  sorts  of  credulous  gos- 
sipers,  had  got  me  the  devil  of  a  reputation  in  the  patio  of  the  jail. 
Men  detached  themselves  from  the  crowd,  and  went  running 
about  to  announce  my  arrival.  The  alcayde  drew  his  long  body 
into  the  patio,  and  turned  to  lock  the  little  door  with  an  immense 


PART  FIFTH  377 

key.  In  the  crowd  all  sorts  of  little  movements  happened.  Women 
crossed  themselves,  and  furtively  thrust  pairs  of  crooked,  skinny, 
brown,  black-nailed  fingers  in  my  direction.  The  man  like  Csesar 
said: 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  Senor  Caballero.  I  did  not  know.  How 
could  I  tell?    You  are  free  of  all  the  patios  in  this  land." 

The  tall  alcayde  finished  grinding  the  immense  key  in  the  lock, 
and  touched  m.e  on  the  arm. 

"  If  the  senor  will  follow  me,"  he  said.  "  I  will  do  the  honors 
of  this  humble  mansion,  and  indicate  a  choice  of  rooms  where  he 
may  be  free  from  the  visits  of  these  gentry." 

We  went  up  steps,  and  through  long,  shadowy  corridors,  with 
here  and  there  a  dark,  lounging  figure,  like  a  stag  seen  in  the  dim 
aisles  of  a  wood.    The  alcayde  threw  open  a  door. 

The  room  was  like  a  blazing  oblong  box,  filled  with  light,  but 
without  window  ox  chimney.  Two  men  were  fencing  in  the  illu- 
mination of  some  twenty  candles  stuck  all  round  the  mildewed 
white  walls  on  lumps  of  clay.  There  was  a  blaze  of  silver  things, 
like  an  altar  of  a  wealthy  church,  from  a  black,  carved  table  in 
the  far  corner.  The  two  men,  in  shirts  and  breeches,  revolved 
round  each  other,  their  rapiers  clinking,  their  left  arms  scarved, 
holding  buttoned  daggers.     The  alcayde  proclaimed: 

"  Don  Vincente  Salazar,  I  have  the  honor  to  announce  an 
English  senor." 

The  man  with  his  face  to  me  tossed  his  rapier  impatiently 
into  a  corner.  He  was  a  plump,  dark  Cuban,  with  a  brooding 
truculence.  The  other  faced  round  quickly.  His  cheeks  shone 
in  the  candle-light  like  polished  yellow  leather,  his  eyes  were 
narrow  slits,  his  face  lugubrious.  He  scrutinized  me  intently,  then 
drawled : 

"  My!  You?  .  .  .  Hang  me  if  I  didn't  think  it  would  be 
you! 

He  had  the  air  of  surveying  a  monstrosity,  and  pulled  the  neck 
of  his  dirty  print  shirt  open,  panting.  He  slouched  out  into  the 
corridor,  and  began  whispering  eagerly  to  the  alcayde.  The 
little  Cuban  glowered  at  me;  I  said  I  had  the  honor  to  salute 
him. 

He  muttered  something  contemptuous  between  his  teeth.    Well, 


378  ROMANCE 

if  he  didn't  want  to  talk  to  me,  I  didn't  want  to  talk  to  him.  It 
had  struck  me  that  the  tall,  sallow  man  was  undoubtedly  the 
second  mate  of  the  Thames.  Nichols,  the  real  Nikola  el  Escoces! 
The  Cuban  grumbled  suddenly: 

• "  You,  sefior,  are  without  doubt  one  of  the  spies  of  that  friend 
of  the  priests,  that  O'Brien.  Tell  him  to  beware — that  I  bid  him 
beware.    I,  Don  Vincente  Salazar  de  Valdepenas  y  Forli  y  .  .  ." 

I  remembered  the  name;  he  was  once  the  suitor  of  Seraphina 
— the  man  O'Brien  had  put  out  of  the  way.  He  continued  with 
a  grotesque  frown  of  portentous  significance: 

"  To-morrow  I  leave  this  place.  And  your  compatriot  is  very 
much  afraid,  senor.  Let  him  fear!  Let  him  fear!  But  a 
thousand  spies  should  not  save  him." 

The  tall  alcayde  came  hurriedly  back  and  stood  bowing  be- 
tween us.  He  apologized  abjectly  to  the  Cuban  for  introducing  me 
upon  him.  But  the  room  was  the  best  in  the  place  at  the  disposal 
of  the  prisoners  of  the  Juez  O'Brien.  And  I  was  a  noted 
caballero.  Heaven  knows  what  I  had  not  done  in  Rio  Medio. 
Burnt,  slain,  ravished.  .  .  .  The  Senor  Juez  was  understood 
to  be  much  incensed  against  me.  The  gloomy  Cuban  at  once 
rushed  upon  me,  as  if  he  would  have  taken  me  into  his  arms. 

"The  Inglesito  of  Rio  Medio!"  he  said.  "Ha,  ha!  Much 
have  I  heard  of  you.  Much  of  the  senior's  valiance!  Many  tales! 
That  foul  eater  of  the  carrion  of  the  priests  wishes  your  life !  Ah, 
but  let  him  beware!  I  shall  save  you,  senor — I,  Don  Vincente 
Salazar." 

He  presented  me  with  the  room — a  remarkably  bare  place  but 
for  his  properties:  silver  branch  candlesticks,  a  silver  chafing-dish 
as  large  as  a  basin.  They  might  have  been  chased  by  Cellini — one 
used  to  find  things  like  that  in  Cuba  in  those  days,  and  Salazar 
was  the  person  to  have  them.  Afterwards,  at  the  time  of  the  first 
insurrection,  his  eight-mule  harness  was  sold  for  four  thousand 
pounds  in  Paris — by  reason  of  the  gold  and  pearls  upon  it.  The 
atmosphere,  he  explained,  was  fetid,  but  his  man  was  coming  to 
burn  sandal-wood  and  beat  the  air  with  fans. 

"And  to-morrow!"  he  said,  his  eyes  rolling.  Suddenly  he 
stopped.  "  Senor,"  he  said,  "  is  it  true  that  my  venerated  friend, 
my  more  than  father,  has  been  murdered — at  the  instigation  of 


PART  FIFTH  379 

that  fiend?  Is  it  true  that  the  senorita  has  disappeared?  These 
tales  are  told." 

I  said  it  was  very  true. 

"They  shall  be  avenged,"  he  declared,  "to-morrow!  I  shall 
seek  out  the  senorita.  I  shall  find  her.  I  shall  find  her!  For 
me  she  was  destined  by  my  venerable  friend." 

He  snatched  a  black  velvet  jacket  from  the  table  and  put  it  on. 

"  Afterwards,  senor,  you  shall  relate.  Have  no  fear.  I  shall 
save  you.  I  shall  save  all  men  oppressed  by  this  scourge  of  the 
land.  For  the  moment  afford  me  the  opportunity  to  meditate." 
He  crossed  his  arms,  and  dropped  his  round  head.  "  Alas,  yes!  " 
he  meditated. 

Suddenly  he  waved  towards  the  door.  "  Senor,"  he  said  swiftly, 
"  I  must  have  air;  I  stifle.    Come  with  me  to  the  corridor.   .   .   ." 

He  went  towards  the  window  giving  on  to  the  patio;  he  stood 
in  the  shadow,  his  arms  folded,  his  head  hanging  dejectedly.  At 
the  moment  it  grew  suddenly  dark,  as  if  a  veil  had  been  thrown 
over  a  lamp.  The  sun  had  set  outside  the  walls.  A  drum  began 
to  beat.  Down  below  in  the  obscurity  the  crowd  separated  into 
three  strings  and  moved  slowly  towards  the  barren  tunnels. 
Under  our  feet  the  white  shirts  disappeared;  the  ragged  crowd 
gravitated  to  the  left;  the  small  children  strung  into  the  square 
cage-door.  The  drum  beat  again  and  the  crowd  hurried.  Then 
there  was  a  clang  of  closing  grilles  and  lights  began  to  show  behind 
the  bars  from  deep  recesses.  In  a  little  time  there  was  a  repulsive 
hash  of  heads  and  limbs  to  be  seen  under  the  arches  vanishing  a 
long  way  within,  and  a  little  light  washed  across  the  gravel  of 
the  patio  from  within. 

"  Senor,"  the  Cuban  said  suddenly,  "  I  will  pronounce  his 
panegyric.  He  was  a  man  of  a  great  gentleness,  of  an  inevitable 
nobility,  of  an  invariable  courtesy.  Where,  in  this  degenerate  age, 
shall  we  find  the  like!  "  He  stopped  to  breathe  a  sound  of  intense 
exasperation. 

"  When  I  think  of  these  Irish,  .  .  .  ."  he  said.  "  Of  that 
O'Brien.  ..."  A  servant  was  arranging  the  shining  room 
that  we  had  left.  Salazar  interrupted  himself  to  give  some  orders 
about  a  banquet,  then  returned  to  me.  "  I  tell  you  I  am  here  for 
introducing  my  knife  to  the  spine  of  some  sort  of  Madrid  embus- 


38o  ROMANCE 

tero,  a  man  who  was  insolent  to  my  amiga  Clara.  Do  you  be- 
lieve that  for  that  this  O'Brien,  by  the  influence  of  the  priests 
whose  soles  he  licks  with  his  tongue,  has  had  mc  inclosed  for 
many  months,?  Because  he  feared  me!  Aha!  I  was  about  to 
expose  him  to  the  noble  don  who  is  now  dead!  I  was  about  to 
wed  the  senorita  who  has  disappeared.  But  to-morrow  ...  I 
shall  expose  his  intrigue  to  the  Captain-General.  You,  senor,  shall 
be  my  witness!  I  extend  my  protection  to  you.  .  .  ."  He 
crossed  his  arms  and  spoke  with  much  deliberation.  "  Senor,  this 
Irishman  incommodes  me,  Don  Vincente  Salazar  de  Valdepeiias 
y  Forli.  .  .  ."  He  nodded  his  head  expressively.  "  Senor,  we 
offered  these  Irish  the  shelter  of  our  robe  for  that  your  Govern- 
ment was  making  martyrs  of  them  who  were  good  Christians,  and 
it  behooves  us  to  act  in  despite  of  your  Government,  who  are  here- 
tics and  not  to  be  tolerated  upon  God's  Christian  earth.  But, 
Seiior,  if  they  incommoded  your  Government  as  they  do  us,  I  do 
not  wonder  that  there  was  a  desire  to  remove  them.  Senor,  the  life 
of  that  man  is  not  worth  the  price  of  eight  mules,  which  is  the 
price  I  have  paid  for  my  release.  I  might  walk  free  at  this  mo- 
ment, but  it  is  not  fitting  that  I  should  slink  away  under  cover  of 
darkness.  I  shall  go  out  in  the  daylight  with  my  carriage.  And 
I  will  have  an  offering  to  show  my  friends  v/ho,  like  me,  are  in- 
commoded by  this.  .  .  ."  The  man  was  a  monomaniac;  but  it 
struck  me  that,  if  I  had  .been  O'Brien,  I  should  have  felt  uncom- 
fortable. 

In  the  dark  of  the  corridor  a  long  shape  appeared,  lounging. 
The  Cuban  beside  me  started  hospitably  forward. 

"  Vamos,"  he  said  briskly;  "  to  the  banquet.  .  .  ."  He  waved 
his  hand  towards  the  shining  door  and  stood  aside.    We  entered. 

The  other  man  was  undoubtedly  the  Nova  Scotian  mate  of  the 
Thames,  the  man  who  had  dissuaded  me  from  following  Carlos  on 
the  day  we  sailed  into  Kingston  Harbor.  He  was  chewing  a  tooth- 
pick, and  at  the  ruminant  motion  of  his  knife-jaws  I  seemed  to  see 
him,  sitting  naked  to  the  waist  in  his  bunk,  instead  of  upright 
there  in  red  trousers  and  a  blue  shirt — an  immense  lank-length  of 
each.  I  pieced  his  history  together  in  a  sort  of  flash.  He  was  the 
true  Nikola  el  Escoces;  his  name  was  Nichols,  and  he  came  from 
Nova  Scotia.    He  had  been  the  chief  of  O'Brien's  Lugarenos.    He 


PART  FIFTH  381 

surveyed  me  now  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  his  yellow  jaws  as 
shiny-shaven  as  of  old;  his  arms  as  much  like  a  semaphore.  He 
said  mockingly: 

"  So  you  went  there,  after  all?" 

But  the  Cuban  was  pressing  us  towards  his  banquet;  there  was 
gaspacho  in  silver  plates,  and  a  man  in  livery  holding  something 
in  a  napkin.  It  worried  me.  We  surveyed  each  other  in  silence. 
I  wondered  what  Nichols  knew;  what  it  would  be  safe  to  tell 
him;  how  much  he  could  help  me?  One  or  other  of  these  men 
undoubtedly  might.  The  Cuban  was  an  imbecile;  but  he  might 
have  some  influence — and  if  he  really  were  going  out  on  the 
morrow,  and  really  did  go  to  the  Captain-General,  he  certainly 
could  further  his  own  revenge  on  O'Brien  by  helping  me.  .  .  . 
But  as  for  Nichols.  ... 

Salazar  began  to  tell  a  long,  exaggerated  story  about  his  cook, 
whom  he  had  imported  from  Paris. 

"  Think,"  he  said ;  "  I  bring  the  fool  two  thousand  miles — and 
then — not  even  able  to  begin  on  a  land-crab.    A  fool!  " 

The  Nova  Scotian  cast  an  uninterested  side  glance  at  him,  and 
said  in  English,  which  Salazar  did  not  understand : 

"So  you  went  there,  after  all?  And  now  he's  got  you."  I 
did  not  answer  him.    "  I  know  all  about  yeh,"  he  added. 

"  It's  more  than  I  do  about  yeh,"  I  said. 

He  rose  and  suddenly  jerked  the  door  open,  peered  on  each  side 
of  the  corridor,  and  then  sat  down  again. 

"  I'm  not  afraid  to  tell,"  he  said  defiantly.  "  I'm  not  afraid 
of  anything.     I'm  safe." 

The  Cuban  said  to  me  in  Spanish:  "This  seiior  is  my  friend. 
Everyone  who  hates  that  devil  is  my  friend." 

"  I'm  safe,"  Nichols  repeated.  "  I  know  too  much  about  our 
friend  the  raparee."  He  lowered  his  voice.  "  They  say  you're 
to  be  given  up  for  piracy,  eh?"  His  eyes  had  an  extraordinary 
anxious  leer.  "You  are  now,  eh?  For  how  much?  Can't  you 
tell  a  man?    We're  in  the  same  boat!    I  kin  help  yeh!  " 

Salazar  accidentally  knocked  a  silver  goblet  off  the  table  and, 
at  the  sound,  Nichols  sprang  half  off  his  chair.  He  glared  in  a 
wild  scare  around  him,  then  grasped  at  a  flagon  of  aguardiente 
and  drank. 


382  ROMANCE 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  any  damn  thing,"  he  said.  "  I've  got  a 
hold  on  that  man.  He  dursen't  give  me  up.  I  kin  see!  He's 
going  to  give  you  up  and  say  you're  responsible  for  it  all." 

"  I  don't  know  what  he's  going  to  do,"  I  answered. 

"  Will  you  not,  seiior,"  Salazar  said  suddenly,  "  relate,  if  you 
can  without  distress,  the  heroic  death  of  that  venerated  man?  " 

I  glanced  involuntarily  at  Nichols.  "  The  distress,"  I  said, 
"  would  be  very  great.  I  was  Don  Balthasar's  kinsman.  The 
Senor  O'Brien  had  a  great  fear  of  my  influence  in  the  Casa.  It 
was  in  trying  to  take  me  away  that  Don  Balthasar,  who  defended 
me,  was  slain  by  the  Lugarehos  of  O'Brien." 

Salazar  said,  "Aha!  Aha!  We  are  kindred  spirits.  Hated 
and  loved  by  the  same  souls.    This  fiend,  senor.    And  then.  .  .  ." 

"  I  escaped  by  sea — in  an  open  boat,  in  the  confusion.  When  I 
reached  Havana,  the  Juez  had  me  arrested." 

Salazar  raised  both  hands;  his  gestures,  made  for  large,  grave 
men,  were  comic  in  him.  They  reduced  Spanish  manners  to 
absurdity.    He  said: 

"  That  man  dies.  That  man  dies.  To-morrow  I  go  to  the 
Captain-General.  He  shall  hear  this  story  of  yours,  senor.  He 
shall  know  of  these  machinations  which  bring  honest  men  to  this 
place.    We  are  a  band  of  brothers.  .  .  ." 

"  That's  what  I  say."  Nichols  leered  at  me.  "  We're  all  in 
the  same  boat." 

I  expect  he  noticed  that  I  wasn't  moved  by  his  declaration.  He 
said,  still  in  English: 

"  Let  us  be  open.  Let's  have  a  council  of  war.  This  Juez 
hates  me  because  I  wouldn't  fire  on  my  own  countrymen."  He 
glanced  furtively  at  me.  "  I  wouldn't,"  he  asserted;  "  he  wanted 
me  to  fire  into  their  boats ;  but  I  wouldn't.  Don't  you  believe  the 
tales  they  tell  about  me!  They  tell  worse  about  you.  Who 
says  I  would  fire  on  my  countrymen?  Where's  the  man  who  says 
it?  "  He  had  been  drinking  more  brandy  and  glared  ferociously 
at  me.  "  None  of  your  tricks,  my  hearty,"  he  said.  "  None  of 
your  getting  out  and  spreading  tales.  O'Brien's  my  friend ;  he'll 
never  give  me  up.  He  dursen't.  I  know  too  much.  You're  a 
pirate!  No  doubt  it  was  you  who  fired  into  them  boats.  By  God, 
I'll  be  witness  against  you  if  they  give  me  up.    I'll  show  you  up." 


PART  FIFTH  383 

All  the  while  the  little  Cuban  talked  swiftly  and  with  a  satur- 
nine enthusiasm.     He  passed  the  wine  rapidly. 

"My  own  countrymen!"  Nichols  shouted.  "Never!  I  shot 
a  Yankee  lieutenant — Allen  he  was — with  my  own  hand.  That's 
another  thing.  I'm  not  a  man  to  trifle  with.  No,  sir.  Don't  you 
try  it.  .  .  .  Why,  I've  papers  that  would  hang  O'Brien.  I  sent 
them  home  to  Halifax.  I  know  a  trick  worth  his.  By  God,  let 
him  try  it !    Let  him  only  try  it.    He  dursen't  give  me  up.  .  .  ." 

The  man  in  livery  came  in  to  snuff  the  candles.  Nichols  sprang 
from  his  seat  in  a  panic  and  drew  his  knife  with  frantic  haste. 
He  continued,  glaring  at  me  from  the  wall,  the  knife  in  his  hand: 

"  Don't  you  dream  of  tricks.  I've  cut  more  throats  than  you've 
kissed  gals  in  your  little  life." 

Salazar  himself  drew  an  immense  pointed  knife  with  a  sha- 
green hilt.     He  kissed  it  rapturously. 

"Aha!  .  .  .  Aha!"  he  said,  "bear  this  kiss  into  his  ribs  at 
the  back.  His  eyes  glistened  with  this  mania.  "  I  swear  it;  when 
I  next  see  this  dog;  this  friend  of  the  priests."  He  threw  the  knife 
on  the  table.  "  Look,"  he  said,  "  was  ever  steel  truer  or  more 
thirsty?" 

"  Don't  you  make  no  mistake,"  Nichols  continued  to  me. 
"  Don't  you  think  to  presume.  O'Brien's  my  friend.  I'm  here 
snug  and  out  of  the  way  of  the  old  fool  of  an  admiral.  That's 
why  he's  kept  waiting  off  the  Morro.  When  he  goes,  I  walk  out 
free.  Don't  you  try  to  frighten  me.  I'm  not  a  man  to  be  fright- 
ened." 

Salazar  b.ubbled:  "  Ah,  but  now  the  wine  flows  and  is  red.  We 
are  a  band  of  brothers,  each  loving  the  other.  Brothers,  let  us 
drink." 

The  air  of  close  confinement,  the  blaze,  the  feel  of  the  jail, 
pressed  upon  me,  and  I  felt  sore,  suddenly,  at  having  eaten  and 
drunk  with  those  two.  The  idea  of  Seraphina,  asleep  perhaps, 
crying  perhaps,  something  pure  and  distant  and  very  blissful,  came 
in  upon  me  irresistibly. 

The  little  Cuban  said,  "  We  have  had  a  very  delightful  con- 
versation.    It  is  very  plain  this  O'Brien  must  die." 

I  rose  to  my  feet.  "  Gentlemen,"  I  said  in  Spanish,  "  I  am 
very  weary ;  I  will  go  and  sleep  in  the  corridor." 


384  ROMANCE 

The  Cuban  sprang  towards  me  with  an  immense  anxiety  of 
hospitableness.  I  was  to  sleep  on  his  couch,  the  couch  of  cloth  of 
gold.  It  was  impossible,  it  was  insulting,  that  I  should  think  of 
sleeping  in  the  corridor.  He  thrust  me  gently  down  upon  it, 
making  with  his  plump  hands  the  motions  of  smoothing  it  to 
receive  me.    I  laid  down  and  turned  my  face  to  the  wall. 

It  wasn't  possible  to  sleep,  even  though  the  little  Cuban,  with 
a  tender  solicitude,  went  round  the  walls  blowing  out  the  candles. 
He  might  be  useful  to  me,  might  really  explain  matters  to  the 
Captain-General,  or  might  even,  as  a  last  resource,  take  a  letter 
from  me  to  the  British  Consul.  But  I  should  have  to  be  alone 
with  him.  Nichols  was  an  abominable  scoundrel;  bloodthirsty  to 
the  defenseless;  a  liar;  craven  before  the  ghost  of  a  threat.  No 
doubt  O'Brien  did  not  want  to  give  him  up.  Perhaps  he  had 
papers.  And  no  doubt,  once  he  could  find  a  trace  of  Seraphina's 
whereabouts,  O'Brien  would  give  me  up.  All  I  could  do  was  to 
hope  for  a  gain  of  time.  And  yet,  if  I  gained  time,  it  could  only 
mean  that  I  should  in  the  end  be  given  up  to  the  admiral. 

And  Seraphina's  whereabouts.  It  came  over  me  lamentably 
that  I  myself  did  not  know.  The  Lion  might  have  sailed.  It  was 
possible.  She  might  be  at  sea.  Then,  perhaps,  my  only  chance  of 
ever  seeing  her  again  lay  in  my  being  given  up  to  the  admiral,  to 
stand  in  England  a  trial,  perhaps  for  piracy,  perhaps  for  treason. 
I  might  meet  her  only  in  England,  after  many  years  of  imprison- 
ment. It  wasn't  possible.  I  would  not  believe  in  the  possibility. 
How  I  loved  her!  How  wildly,  how  irrationally — this  woman  of 
another  race,  of  another  world,  bound  to  me  by  sufferings  together, 
by  joys  together.  Irrationally!  Looking  at  the  matter  now,  the 
reason  is  plain  enough.  Before  then  I  had  not  lived.  I  had  only 
waited — for  her  and  for  what  she  stood  for.  It  was  in  my  blood, 
in  my  race,  in  my  tradition,  in  my  training.  We,  all  of  us  for 
generations,  had  made  for  efficiency,  for  drill,  for  restraint.  Our 
Romance  was  just  this  very  Spanish  contrast,  this  obliquity  of 
vision,  this  slight  tilt  of  the  convex  mirror  that  shaped  the 
same  world  so  differently  to  onlookers  at  different  points  of  its 
circle. 

I  could  feel  a  little  of  it  even  then,  when  there  was  only  the 
merest  chance  of  my  going  back  to  England  and   getting  back 


PART  FIFTH  385 

towards  our  old  position  on  the  rim  of  the  mirror.  The  de- 
viousness,  the  wayward  passion,  even  the  sempiternal  abuses  of 
the  land  were  already  beginning  to  take  the  aspect  of  something 
like  quaint  impotence.  It  was  charm  that,  now  I  was  on  the  road 
away,  was  becoming  apparent.  The  inconveniences  of  life,  the 
physical  discomforts,  the  smells  of  streets,  the  heat,  dropped  into 
the  background.  I  felt  that  I  did  not  want  to  go  away,  irrevocably 
from  a  land  sanctioned  by  her  presence,  her  young  life.  I  turned 
uneasily  to  the  other  side.  At  the  heavy  black  table,  in  the  light 
of  a  single  candle,  the  Cuban  and  the  Nova-Scotian  were  dis- 
cussing, their  heads  close  together. 

"  I  tell  you  no,"  Nichols  was  saying  in  a  fluent,  abominable, 
literal  translation  into  Spanish.  "  Take  the  knife  so.  .  .  thumb 
upwards.  Stab  down  in  the  soft  between  the  neck  and  the 
shoulder-blade.  You  get  right  into  the  lungs  with  the  point. 
I've  tried  it:  ten  times.  Never  stick  the  back.  The  chances  are 
he  moves,  and  you  hit  a  bone.  There  are  no  bones  there.  It's 
the  way  they  kill  pigs  in  New  Jersey." 

The  Cuban  bent  his  brows  as  if  he  were  reflecting  over  a  chess- 
board. "  Ma  .  .  ."  he  pondered.  His  knife  was  lying  on  the 
table.  He  unsheathed  it,  then  got  up,  and  moved  behind  the  seated 
Nova  Scotian. 

"You  say  .  .  .  there?"  he  asked,  pressing  his  little  finger  at 
the  base  of  Nichols'  skinny  column  of  a  neck.  "  And  then  .  .  ." 
He  measured  the  length  of  the  knife  on  Nichols's  back  twice  with 
elaborate  care,  breathing  through  his  nostrils.  Then  he  said  with 
a  convinced,  musing  air,  "  It  is  true.  It  would  go  down  into  the 
lungs." 

"  And  there  are  arteries  and  things,"  Nichols  said. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  the  Cuban  answered,  sheathing  the  knife  and 
thrusting  it  into  his  belt. 

"  With  a  knife  that  length  it's  perfect."  Nichols  waved  his 
shadowy  hand  towards  Salazar's  scarf.    Salazar  moved  off  a  little. 

"  I  see  the  advantages,"  he  said.  "  No  crying  out,  because  of 
the  blood  in  the  lungs.     I  thank  you,  Senor  Escoces." 

Nichols  rose,  lurching  to  his  full  height,  and  looked  in  my 
direction.  I  closed  my  eyes.  I  did  not  wish  him  to  talk  to  me. 
I  heard  him  say; 


386  ROMANCE 

"  Well,  hast  a  mas  ver.  I  shall  get  away  from  here.  Good- 
night." 

He  swayed  an  immense  shadow  through  the  door.  Salazar  took 
the  candle  and  followed  him  into  the  corridor. 

Yes,  that  was  it,  why  she  was  so  great  a  part,  a  whole  wall,  a 
whole  beam  of  my  life's  house.  I  saw  her  suddenly  in  the  black- 
ness, her  full  red  lips,  her  quivering  nostrils,  the  curve  of  her 
breasts,  her  lithe  movements  from  the  hips,  the  way  she  set  her 
feet  down,  the  white  flower  waxen  in  the  darkness  of  her  hair, 
and  the  robin-wing  flutter  of  her  lids  over  her  gray  eyes  when  she 
smiled.  I  moved  convulsively  in  my  intense  desire.  I  would  have 
given  my  soul,  my  share  of  eternity,  my  honor,  only  to  see  that 
flutter  of  the  lids  over  the  shining  gray  eyes.  I  never  felt  I  was 
beneath  the  imponderable  pressure  of  a  prison's  wall  till  then. 
She  was  infinite  miles  away ;  I  could  not  even  imagine  what  inani- 
mate things  surrounded  her.  She  must  be  talking  to  someone  else ; 
fluttering  her  lids  like  that.  I  recognized  with  a  physical  agony 
that  was  more  than  jealousy  how  slight  was  my  hold  upon 
her. 

It  was  not  in  her  race,  in  her  blood  as  in  mine,  to  love  me  and  my 
type.  She  had  lived  all  her  life  in  the  middle  of  Romance,  and 
the  very  fire  and  passion  of  her  South  must  make  me  dim  prose 
to  her.  I  remember  the  flicker  of  Salazar's  returning  candle, 
cast  in  lines  like  an  advancing  scythe  across  the  two  walls  from 
the  corridor.    I  slept. 

I  had  the  feeling  of  appalled  horror  suddenly  invading  my 
sleep;  a  vast  voice  seemed  to  be  exclaiming: 

"  Tell  me  where  she  is!  " 

I  looked  at  the  glowing  horn  of  a  lanthorn.  It  was  O'Brien 
who  held  it.     He  stood  over  me,  very  somber. 

"  Tell  me  where  she  is,"  he  said,  the  moment  my  eyes  opened. 

I  said,  "  She's  .  .  .  she's I  don't  know." 

It  appalls  me  even  now  to  think  how  narrow  was  my  escape.  It 
was  only  because  I  had  gone  to  sleep  in  the  thought  that  I  did  not 
know,  that  I  answered  that  I  did  not  know.  Ah — he  was  a  cun- 
ning devil!  To  suddenly  wake  one;  to  get  one's  thoughts  before 
one  had  had  time  to  think!  I  lay  looking  at  him,  shivering.  I 
couldn't  even  see  much  of  his  face. 


PART  FIFTH  387 

"Where  is  she?"  he  said  again.  "Where?  Dead?  Dead? 
God  have  mercy  on  your  soul  if  the  child  is  dead !  " 

I  was  still  trembling.  If  I  had  told  him! — I  could  hardly 
believe  I  had  not.  He  continued  bending  over  me  with  an  atti- 
tude that  hideously  mocked  solicitude. 

"  Where  is  she?  "  he  asked  again. 

"  Ransack  the  island,"  I  said.  He  glared  at  me,  lifting  the 
lamp.    "  The  whole  earth,  if  you  like." 

He  ground  his  teeth,  bending  very  low  over  me;  then  stood 
up,  raising  his  head  into  the  shadow  above  the  lamp. 

"What  do  I  care  for  all  the  admirals?"  he  was  speaking  to 
himself.  "  No  ship  shall  leave  Havana  till.  .  .  ."  He  groaned. 
I  heard  him  slap  his  forehead,  and  say  distractedly,  "  But  perhaps 
she  is  not  in  a  ship." 

There  was  a  silence  in  which  I  heard  him  breathe  heavily, 
and  then  he  amazed  me  by  saying: 

"  Have  pity." 

I  laughed,  lying  on  my  back.    "  On  you !  " 

He  bent  down.    "  Fool!  on  yourself." 

A  vast  and  towering  shadow  ran  along  the  wall.  There  wasn't 
a  sound.  The  face  of  Salazar  appeared  behind  him,  and  an  up- 
lifted hand  grasping  a  knife.  O'Brien  saw  the  horror  in  my  eyes. 
I  gasped  to  him:  "Look.  .  .  ."  and  before  he  could  move  the 
knife  went  softly  home  between  neck  and  shoulder.  Salazar 
glided  to  the  door  and  turned  to  wave  his  hand  at  me.  O'Brien's 
lips  were  pressed  tightly  together,  the  handle  of  the  knife  was 
against  his  ear,  the  lanthorn  hung  at  the  end  of  his  rigid  arm  for 
a  moment.  As  he  lowered  it,  the  blood  spurted  from  his  shoulder 
as  if  from  a  burst  stand-pipe,  only  black  and  warm.  It  fell  over 
my  face,  over  my  hands,  everywhere.  For  a  minute  of  eternity 
his  agonized  eyes  searched  my  features,  as  if  to  discern  whether  I 
had  connived,  whether  I  had  condoned. 

I  had  started  up,  my  face  coming  right  against  his.  I  felt  an 
immense  horror.  What  did  it  mean?  What  had  he  done?  He 
had  been  such  a  power  for  so  long,  so  inevitably,  over  my  whole 
life  that  I  could  not  even  begin  to  understand  that  this  was  not 
some  new  subtle  villainy  of  his.  He  shook  his  head  slowly,  his  ear 
disturbing  the  knife. 


388  ROMANCE 

Then  he  turned  jerkily  on  his  heel,  the  Ian  thorn  swinging  round 
and  leaving  me  in  his  shadow.  There  were  ten  paces  to  reach 
the  door.  It  was  like  the  finish  of  a  race  whether  he  would  cover 
the  remaining  seven  after  the  first  three  steps.  The  dangling 
lanthorn  shed  small  patches  of  light  through  the  holes  in  the  metal 
top,  like  sunlight  through  leaves,  upon  the  gloom  of  the  remote 
ceiling.  At  the  fifth  step  he  pressed  his  hand  spasmodically  to 
his  mouth;  at  the  sixth  he  wavered  to  one  side.  I  made  a  sudden 
motion  as  if  to  save  him  from  falling.  He  was  dying!  He  was 
dying!  I  hardly  realized  what  it  meant.  This  immense  weight 
was  being  removed  from  me.  I  had  no  need  to  fear  him  any  more. 
I  couldn't  understand,  I  could  only  look.  This  was  his  passing. 
This.  ... 

He  sank,  knelt  down,  placing  the  lanthorn  on  the  floor.  He 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  began  to  cough  incessantly, 
like  a  man  dying  of  consumption.  The  glowing  top  of  the  lanthorn 
hissed  and  sputtered  out  in  little  sharp  blows,  like  hammer  strokes 
....  Carlos  had  coughed  like  that.  Carlos  was  dead.  Now 
O'Brien !  He  was  going.  I  should  escape.  It  was  all  over.  Was 
it  all  over?  He  bowed  stiffly  forward,  placing  his  hands  on  the 
stones,  then  lay  over  on  his  side  with  his  face  to  the  light,  his 
eyes  glaring  at  it.  I  sat  motionless,  watching  him.  The  lanthorn 
lit  the  carved  leg  of  the  black  table  and  a  dusty  circle  of  the  flags. 
The  spurts  of  blood  from  his  shoulder  grew  less  long  in  answer  to 
the  pulsing  of  his  heart ;  his  fists  unclenched,  he  drew  his  legs  up  to 
his  body,  then  sank  down.  His  eyes  looked  suddenly  at  mine  and, 
as  the  features  slowly  relaxed,  the  smile  seemed  to  come  back, 
enigmatic,  round  his  mouth. 

He  was  dead ;  he  was  gone ;  I  was  free !  He  would  never 
know"  where  she  was;  never!  He  had  gone,  with  the  question  on 
his  lips;  with  the  agony  of  uncertainty  in  his  eyes.  From  the 
door  came  an  immense,  grotesque,  and  horrible  chuckle. 

"Aha!  Aha!  I  have  saved  you,  senor,  I  have  protected  you. 
We  are  as  brothers." 

Against  the  tenuous  blue  light  of  the  dawn  Salazar  was  gesticu- 
lating in  the  doorway.  I  felt  a  sudden  repulsion ;  a  feeling  of 
intense  disgust.  O'Brien  lying  there,  I  almost  wished  alive  again 
— I  wanted  to  have  him  again,  rather  than  that  I  should  have  been 


This  was  his  passing.       This 


PART  FIFTH  389 

relieved  of  him  by  that  atrocious  murder.  I  sat  looking  at  both  of 
them. 

Saved!  By  that  lunatic?  I  suddenly  appreciated  the  agony 
of  mind  that  alone  could  have  brought  O'Brien,  the  cautious,  the 
all-seeing,  into  this  place — to  ask  me  a  question  that  for  him  was 
answered  now.     Answered  for  him  more  than  for  me. 

Where  was  Seraphina?  Where?  How  should  I  come  to  her? 
O'Brien  was  dead.  And  I.  ,  .  .  Could  I  walk  out  of  this  place 
and  go  to  her?    O'Brien  was  dead.    But  I  .  .  . 

I  suddenly  realized  that  now  I  was  the  pirate  Nikola  el  Escoces 
— that  now  he  was  no  more  there,  nothing  could  save  me  from 
being  handed  over  to  the  admiral.     Nothing. 

Salazar  outside  the  door  began  to  call  boastfully  towards  the 
sound  of  approaching  footsteps. 

"Aha!  Aha!  Come  all  of  you!  See  what  I  have  done! 
Come,  Seiior  Alcayde!    Come,  brave  soldiers  .  .  ." 

In  that  way  died  this  man  whose  passion  had  for  so  long  hung 
over  my  life  like  a  shadow.  Looking  at  the  matter  now,  I  am, 
perhaps,  glad  that  he  fell  neither  by  my  hand  nor  in  my  quarrel. 
I  assuredly  had  injured  him  the  first;  I  had  come  upon  his  ground; 
I  had  thwarted  him ;  I  had  been  a  heavy  weight  at  a  time  when 
his  fortunes  had  been  failing.  Failing  they  undoubtedly  were. 
He  had  run  his  course  too  far. 

And,  if  his  death  removed  him  out  of  my  path,  the  legacy  of 
his  intrigue  caused  me  suffering  enough.  Had  he  lived,  there  is 
no  knowing  what  he  might  have  done.  He  was  bound  to  deliver 
someone  to  the  British — either  myself  or  Nichols.  Perhaps,  at 
the  last  moment,  he  would  have  kept  me  in  Havana.  There  is 
no  saying. 

Undoubtedly  he  had  not  wished  to  deliver  Nichols;  either 
because  he  really  knew  too  much,  or  because  he  had  scruples. 
Nichols  had  certainly  been  faithful  to  him.  And,  with  his  fine 
irony,  it  was  certainly  delightful  to  him  to  think  that  I  should  die 
a  felon's  death  in  England.  For  those  reasons  he  had  identified 
me  with  Nikola  el  Escoces,  intending  to  give  up  whichever  suited 
him  at  the  last  moment. 

Now  that  was  settled  for  him  and  for  me.    The  delivery  was 


390  ROMANCE 

to  take  place  at  dawn,  and  O'Brien  not  being  to  be  found,  the 
old  Judge  of  the  First  Instance  had  been  sent  to  identify  the  pris- 
oner. He  selected  me,  whom,  of  course,  he  recognized.  There 
was  no  question  of  Nichols,  who  had  been  imprisoned  on  a  charge 
of  theft  trumped  up  by  O'Brien. 

Salazar,  whether  he  would  have  gone  to  the  Captain-General 
or  not,  was  now  entirely  useless.  He  was  retained  to  answer  the 
charge  of  murder.  And  to  any  protestations  I  could  make,  the 
old  Juez  was  entirely  deaf. 

"  The  senor  must  make  representations  to  his  own  authorities," 
he  said.    "  I  have  warrant  for  what  I  have  done." 

It  was  impossible  to  expose  O'Brien  to  him.  The  soldiers  of 
the  escort,  in  the  dawn  before  the  prison  gates,  simply  laughed  at 
me. 

They  marched  me  down  through  the  gray  mists,  to  the  water's 
edge.  Two  soldiers  held  my  arms;  O'Brien's  blood  was  drying 
on  my  face  and  on  my  clothes.  I  was,  even  to  myself,  a  miserable 
object.  Among  the  negresses  on  the  slimy  boat-steps  a  thick, 
short  man  was  asking  questions.  He  opened  amazed  eyes  at  the 
sight  of  me.  It  was  Williams — the  Lioji  was  not  yet  gone  then. 
If  he  spoke  to  me,  or  gave  token  of  connection  with  Seraphina, 
the  Spaniards  would  understand.  They  would  take  her  from 
him  certainly;  perhaps  immure  her  in  a  convent.  And  now  that 
I  was  bound  irrevocably  for  England,  she  must  go,  too.  He  was 
shouldering  his  way  towards  my  guards. 

"Silence!"  I  shouted,  without  looking  at  him.  "Go  away, 
make  sail.  ,  .  .     Tell  Sebright.  .  .  ." 

My  guards  seemed  to  think  I  had  gone  mad;  they  laid  hands 
upon  me.  I  didn't  struggle,  and  we  passed  down  towards  the 
landing  steps,  brushing  Williams  aside.  He  stood  perturbedly, 
gazing  after  me;  then  I  saw  him  asking  questions  of  a  civil  guard. 
A  man-of-war's  boat,  the  ensign  trailing  in  the  glassy  water,  the 
glazed  hats  of  the  seamen  bobbing  like  clockwork,  was  flying 
towards  us.  Here  was  England!  Here  was  home!  I  should 
have  to  clear  myself  of  felony,  to  strain  every  nerve  and  cheat  the 
gallows.  If  only  Williams  understood,  if  only  he  did  not  make 
a  fool  of  himself.  I  couldn't  see  him  any  more;  a  jabbering 
crowd  all  round  us  was  being  kept  at  a  distance  by  the  muskets 


PART  FIFTH  391 

of  the  soldiers.  My  only  chance  was  Sebright's  intelligence.  He 
might  prevent  Williams  making  a  fool  of  himself.  The  com- 
mander of  the  guard  said  to  the  lieutenant  from  the  flagship,  who 
had  landed,  attended  by  the  master-at-arms: 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  deliver  to  your  worship's  custody  the 
prisoner  promised  to  his  excellency  the  English  admiral.  Here 
are  the  papers  disclosing  his  crimes  to  the  justice.  I  beg  for  a 
receipt." 

A  shabby  escrivano  from  the  prison  advanced  bowing,  with  an 
inkhorn,  shaking  a  wet  goose-quill.  A  guardia  civil  offered  his 
back.  The  lieutenant  signed  a  paper  hastily,  then  looking  hard 
at  me,  gave  the  order: 

"  Master-at-arms,  handcuff  one  of  the  prisoner's  hands  to  your 
own  wrist.    He  is  a  desperate  character." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  first  decent  word  I  had  spoken  to  me  after  that  for 
months  came  from  my  turnkey  at  Newgate.  It  was 
when  he  welcomed  me  back  from  my  examination 
before  the  Thames  Court  magistrate.  The  magistrate,  a  bad- 
tempered  man,  snuffy,  with  red  eyes,  and  the  air  of  being  a  piece 
of  worn  and  dirty  furniture  of  his  court,  had  snapped  at  me 
when  I  tried  to  speak: 

"  Keep  your  lies  for  the  Admiralty  Session.  I've  only  time  to 
commit  you.  Damn  your  Spaniards;  why  can't  they  translate 
their  own  papers;"  had  signed  something  with  a  squeaky  quill, 
tossed  it  to  his  clerk,  and  grunted,  "  Next  case." 

I  had  gone  back  to  Newgate. 

The  turnkey,  a  man  with  the  air  of  an  innkeeper,  bandy-legged, 
with  a  bulbous,  purple-veined  nose  and  watering  eyes,  slipped  out 
of  the  gatehouse  door,  whilst  the  great,  hollow-sounding  gate  still 
shook  behind  me.     He  said: 

"  If  you  hurries  up  you'll  see  a  bit  of  life.  .  .  .  Do  you  good. 
Condemned  sermon.  Being  preached  in  the  chapel  now;  sheriffs 
and  all.  They  swing  to-morrow— three  of  them.  Quick  with 
the  stumps." 

He  hurried  me  over  the  desolate  moss-greeny  cobbles  of  the 
great  solitary  yard  into  a  square,  tall,  bare,  white-washed  place. 
Already  from  the  outside  one  caught  a  droning  voice.  There 
might  have  been  three  hundred  people  there,  boxed  off  in  pews, 
with  turnkeys  at  each  end.  A  vast  king's  arms,  a  splash  of  red 
and  blue  gilt  sprawled  above  a  two-tiered  pulpit  that  was  like  the 
trunk  of  a  large  broken  tree.  The  turnkey  pulled  my  hat  off, 
and  nudged  me  into  a  box  beside  the  door. 

"  Kneel  down,"  he  whispered  hoarsely. 

I  knelt.  A  man  with  a  new  wig  was  droning  out  words, 
waving  his  hands  now  and  then  from  the  top  of  the  tall  pulpit. 
Beneath  him  a  smaller  man  in  an  old  wig  was  dozing,  his  head 

392 


PART  FIFTH  393 

bent  forward.  The  place  was  dirty,  and  ill-lighted  by  the  tall, 
grimy  windows,  heavily  barred.  A  pair  of  candles  flickered  beside 
the  preacher's  right  arm 

"  They  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships,  my  poor  brethren," 
he  droned,  "  lying  under  the  shadow  .  .  ." 

He  directed  his  hands  towards  a  tall  deal  box  painted  black, 
isolated  in  the  center  of  the  lower  floor.  A  man  with  a  red  head 
sat  in  it,  his  arms  folded ;  another  had  his  arms  covering  his  head, 
which  leant  abjectly  forward  on  the  rail  in  front.  There  were 
Harge  rusty  gyves  upon  his  wrists. 

"  But  observe,  my  poor  friends,"  the  chaplain  droned  on,  "  the 
psalmist  saith,  '  At  the  last  He  shall  bring  them  unto  the  desired 
haven.'     Now.  .  .  ." 

The  turnkey  whispered  suddenly  into  my  ear:  "Them's  the 
condemned  he's  preaching  at,  them  in  the  black  pew.  See  Roguey 
Cullen  wink  at  the  woman  prisoners  up  there  in  the  gallery.  .  .  . 
Him  with  the  red  hair.  .  .  .    All  swings  to-morrow." 

**  After  they  have  staggered  and  reeled  to  and  fro,  and  been 
amazed  .  .  .  observe.  After  they  have  been  tempted;  even  after 
they  have  fallen.  ..." 

The  sheriffs  had  their  eyes  decorously  closed.  The  clerk 
reached  up  from  below  the  preacher,  and  snuffed  one  of  the 
candles.  The  preacher  paused  to  rearrange  his  shining  wig. 
Little  clouds  of  powder  flew  out  where  he  touched  it.  He  struck 
his  purple  velvet  cushion,  and  continued: 

"  At  the  last,  I  say.  He  shall  bring  them  to  the  haven  they  had 
desired." 

A  jarring  shriek  rose  out  of  the  black  pew,  and  an  insensate 
jangling  of  irons  rattled  against  the  hollow  wood.  The  ironed 
man,  whose  head  had  been  hidden,  was  writhing  in  an  epileptic 
fit.  The  governor  began  signaling  to  the  jailers,  and  the  whole 
dismal  assembly  rose  to  its  feet,  and  craned  to  get  a  sight.  The 
jailers  began  hurrying  them  out  of  the  building.  The  red-headed 
man  was  crouching  in  the  far  corner  of  the  black  box. 

The  turnkey  caught  the  end  of  my  sleeve,  and  hurried  me  out 
of  the  door. 

"  Come  away,"  he  said.  "  Come  out  of  it.  .  .  .  Damn  my  good 
nature." 


394  ROMANCE 

We  went  swiftly  through  the  tall,  gloomy,  echoing  stone  pas- 
sages. All  the  time  there  was  the  noise  of  the  prisoners  being 
marshaled  somewhere  into  their  distant  yards  and  cells.  We 
went  across  the  bottom  of  a  well,  where  the  weeping  December 
light  struck  ghastly  down  on  to  the  stones,  into  a  sort  of  rabbit- 
warren  of  black  passages  and  descending  staircases,  a  horror  of 
cold,  solitude,  and  night.  Iron  door  after  iron  door  clanged  to 
behind  us  in  the  stony  blackness.  After  an  interminable  travers- 
ing, the  turnkey,  still  with  his  hand  on  my  sleeve,  jerked  me  into 
my  familiar  cell.  I  hadn't  thought  to  be  glad  to  get  back  to 
that  dim,  frozen,  damp-chilled  little  hole;  with  its  hateful  stone 
walls,  stone  ceiling,  stone  floor,  stone  bed-slab,  and  stone  table; 
its  rope  mat,  foul  stable-blanket,  its  horrible  sense  of  eternal 
burial,  out  of  sound,  out  of  sight  under  a  mined  mountain  of 
black  stones.  It  was  so  tiny  that  the  turnkey,  entering  after  me, 
seemed  to  be  pressed  close  up  to  my  chest,  and  so  dark  that  I  could 
not  see  the  color  of  the  dirty  hair  that  fell  matted  from  the  bald 
patch  on  the  top  of  his  skull;  so  familiar  that  I  knew  the  feel  of 
every  little  worming  of  rust  on  the  iron  candlestick.  He  wiped 
his  face  with  a  brown  rag  of  handkerchief,  and  said : 

"  Curse  me  if  ever  I  go  into  that  place  again."  After  a  time 
he  added:  "  Unless  'tis  a  matter  of  duty." 

I  didn't  say  anything;  my  nerves  were  still  jangling  to  that 
shrieking,  and  to  the  clang  of  the  iron  doors  that  had  closed  be- 
hind me.  I  had  an  irresistible  impulse  to  get  hold  of  the  iron 
candlestick  and  smash  it  home  through  the  skull  of  the  turnkey — 
as  I  had  done  to  the  men  who  had  killed  Seraphina's  father  .  .  . 
to  kill  this  man,  then  to  creep  along  the  black  passages  and 
murder  man  after  man  beside  those  iron  doors  until  I  got  to  the 
open  air. 

He  began  again.  "  You'd  think  we'd  get  used  to  it — you'd 
think  we  would — but  'tis  a  strain  for  us.  You  never  knows  what 
the  prisoners  will  do  at  a  scene  like  that  there.  It  drives  'em  mad. 
Look  at  this  scar.  Machell  the  forger  done  that  for  me,  'fore 
he  was  condemned,  after  a  sermon  like  that — a  quiet,  gentlemanly 
man,  much  like  you.  Lord,  yes,  'tis  a  strain.  .  .  ."  He  paused, 
still  wiping  his  face,  then  went  on.  "And  I  swear  that  when  I 
sees  them  men  sit  there  in  that  black  pew,  an'  hev  heard  the 


PART  FIFTH  395 

hammers  going  clack,  clack  on  the  scaffolding  outside,  and  knew 
that  they  hadn't  no  more  chance  than  you  have  to  get  out  of 
there  .  .  ."  He  pointed  his  short  thumb  towards  the  hand- 
kerchief of  an  opening,  where  the  little  blur  of  blue  light  wavered 
through  the  two  iron  frames  crossed  in  the  nine  feet  of  well. 
"  Lord,  you  never  gets  used  to  it.  You  wants  them  to  escape; 
'tis  in  the  air  through  the  whole  prison,  even  the  debtors.  I  tells 
myself  again  and  again,  '  You're  a  fool  for  your  pains.'  But  it's 
the  same  with  the  others — my  mates.  You  can't  get  it  out  of 
your  mind.  That  little  kid  now.  Fve  seen  children  swing;  but 
that  little  kid — as  sure  to  swing  as  what  ...  as  what  you 
are.  .  .  ." 

"  You  think  I  am  going  to  swing?  "  I  asked. 

I  didn't  want  to  kill  him  any  more;  I  wanted  too  much  to 
hear  him  talk.  I  hadn't  heard  anything  for  months  and  months 
of  solitude,  of  darkness — on  board  the  admiral's  ship,  stranded  in 
the  guardship  at  Plymouth,  bumping  round  the  coast,  and  now 
here  in  Newgate.  And  it  had  been  darkness  all  the  time.  Jove! 
That  Cuban  time,  with  its  movements,  its  pettiness,  its  intrigue, 
its  warmth,  even  its  villainies  showed  plainly  enough  in  the  chill 
of  that  blackness.     It  had  been  romance,  that  life. 

Little,  and  far  away,  and  irrevocably  done  with,  it  showed  all 
golden.  There  wasn't  any  romance  where  I  lay  then;  and  there 
had  been  irons  on  my  wrists;  gruff  hatred,  the  darkness,  and 
always  despair. 

On  board  the  flagship  coming  home  I  had  been  chained  down 
in  the  cable-tier — a  place  where  I  could  feel  every  straining  of 
the  great  ship.  Once  these  had  risen  to  a  pandemonium,  a  fright- 
ful tumult.  There  was  a  great  gale  outside.  A  sailor  came  down 
with  a  lanthorn,  and  tossed  my  biscuit  to  me. 

"  You  d -d  pirate,"  he  said,  "  maybe  it's  you  saving  us  from 

drowning." 

"  Is  the  gale  very  bad?  "  I  had  called. 

He  muttered — and  the  fact  that  he  spoke  to  me  at  all  showed 
how  great  the  strain  of  the  weather  must  have  been  to  wring  any 
words  out  of  him: 

"  Bad — there's  a  large  Indiaman  gone.  We  saw  her  one 
minute  and  then   .    .    ."     He  went  away,  muttering. 


396  ROMANCE 

And  suddenly  the  thought  had  come  to  me,  What  if  the  India- 
man  were  the  Lion — the  Lion  with  Seraphina  on  board?  The 
man  would  not  speak  to  me  when  he  came  again.  No  one  would 
speak  to  me;  I  was  a  pirate  who  had  fired  on  his  own  country- 
men. And  the  thought  had  pursued  me  right  into  Newgate — if 
she  were  dead ;  if  I  had  taken  her  from  that  security,  from  that 
peace,  to  end  there.  .  .  .  And  to  end  myself. 

"Swing!"  the  turnkey  said;  "you'll  swing  right  enough." 
He  slapped  the  great  key  on  his  flabby  hand.  "  You  can  tell 
that  by  the  signs.  You,  being  an  Admiralty  case,  ought  to  have 
been  in  the  Marshalsea.  And  you're  ordered  solitary  cell,  and 
I'm  tipped  the  straight  wink  against  your  speaking  a  blessed  word 
to  a  blessed  soul.  Why  don't  they  let  you  see  an  attorney?  Why? 
Because  they  mean  you  to  swing." 

I  said,  "  Never  mind  that.  Have  you  heard  of  a  ship  called 
the  Lionf    Can  you  find  out  about  her?  " 

He  shook  his  head  cunningly,  and  did  not  answer.  If  the  Lion 
had  been  here,  I  must  have  heard.  They  couldn't  have  left  me 
here. 

I  said,  "  For  God's  sake  find  out.    Get  a  shipping  gazette." 

He  affected  not  to  hear. 

"  There's  money  in  plenty,"  I  said. 

He  winked  ponderously  and  began  again.  "  Oh,  you'll  swing 
all  right.  A  man  with  nothing  against  him  has  a  chance;  with 
the  rhino  he  has  it,  even  if  he's  guilty.  But  you'll  swing.  Charlie, 
who  brought  you  back  just  now,  had  a  chat  with  the  'Torney-Gen- 
eral's  devil's  clerk's  clerk,  while  old  Nog  o'  Bow  Street  was  trying 
to  read  their  Spanish.  He  says  it's  a  Gov'nment  matter.  They 
wants  to  hang  you  bad,  they  do,  so's  to  go  the  Jacky  Spaniards 
and  say,  '  He  were  a  nob,  a  nobby  nob.'  (So  you  are,  aren't 
you?  One  uncle  an  earl  and  t'other  a  dean,  if  so  be  what 
they  say's  true.)  '  He  were  a  nobby  nob  and  we  swung  'im.  Go 
you'n  do  likewise.'  They  want  a  striking  example  t'  keep  the 
West  India  trade  quiet  ..."  He  wiped  his  forehead  and  moved 
my  water  jug  of  red  earth  on  the  dirty  deal  table  under  the 
window,  for  all  the  world  like  a  host  in  front  of  a  guest.  "  They 
means  you  to  swing,"  he  said.  "  They've  silenced  the  Thames 
Court  reporters.     Not  a  noospaper  will  publish  a  correct  report 


PART  FIFTH  397 

t'morrer.  And  you  haven't  see  nobody,  nor  you  won't,  not  if  I 
can  help  it." 

He  broke  off  and  looked  at  me  with  an  expression  of  candor. 

"  Mind  you,"  he  said,  "  I'm  not  uffish.  To  'n  ornery  gentle- 
man— of  the  road  or  what  you  will — I'm  not,  if  so  be  he's  the 
necessary.  I'd  take  a  letter  like  another.  But  for  you,  no — fear. 
Not  that  I've  my  knife  into  you.  What  I  can  do  to  make  you 
comfor'ble  I  will  do,  both  now  an'  hereafter.  But  when  I  gets 
the  wink,  I  looks  after  my  skin.  So'd  any  man.  You  don't  see 
nobody,  nor  you  won't;  nor  your  nobby  relations  won't  have  the 
word.  Till  the  Hadmir'lty  trile.  Charlie  says  it's  unconstitu- 
tional, you  ought  to  see  your  'torney,  if  you've  one,  or  your  father's 
got  one.  But  Lor',  I  says,  '  Charlie,  if  they  wants  it  they  gets  it. 
This  aint  no  habeas  carpis,  give  the  man  a  chance  case.  It's  the 
Hadmir'lty.  And  not  a  man  tried  for  piracy  this  thirty  year.  See 
what  a  show  it  gives  them,  what  bloody  Radicle  knows  or  keeres 
what  the  perceedin's  should  be?  Who's  a-goin'  t'  make  a  ques- 
tion out  of  it?  Go  away,'  says  I  to  Charlie.  And  that's  it 
straight." 

He  went  towards  the  door,  then  turned. 

"  You  should  be  in  the  Marshalsea  common  yard ;  even  I  knows 
that.     But  they've  the  wink  there.     *  Too  full,'  says  they.     Too 

full  be  d d.    I've  know'd  the  time — after  the  Vansdell  smash 

it  were — when  they  found  room  for  three  hundred  more  im- 
provident debtors  over  and  above  what  they're  charted  for.  Too 
full!  Their  common  yard!  They  don't  want  you  to  speak  to  a 
soul,  an'  you  won't  till  this  day  week,  when  the  Hadmir'lty  Ses- 
sion is  in  full  swing."  He  went  out  and  locked  the  door,  snorting, 
"  Too  full  at  the  Marshalsea!   .   .   .   Go  away!  " 

"  Find  out  about  the  Lion"  I  called,  as  the  door  closed. 

It  cleared  the  air  for  me,  that  speech.  I  understood  that  they 
wanted  to  hang  me,  and  I  wanted  not  to  be  hung,  desperately, 
from  that  moment.  I  had  not  much  cared  before;  I  had — call  it, 
moped.  I  had  not  really  believed,  really  sensed  it  out.  It  isn't 
easy  to  conceive  that  one  is  going  to  be  hanged,  I  doubt  if  one  does 
even  with  the  rope  round  one's  neck.  I  hadn't  much  wanted  to 
live,  but  now  I  wanted  to  fight — one  good  fight  before  I  went 
under  for  good  and  all,  condemned  or  acquitted.     There  wasn't 


398  ROMANCE 

anything  left  for  me  to  live  for,  Seraphina  could  not  be  alive.  The 
Lion  must  have  been  lost. 

But  I  was  going  to  make  a  fight  for  it;  curse  it,  I  was  going 
to  give  them  trouble.  My  "  them  "  was  not  so  much  the  Govern- 
ment that  meant  to  hang  me  as  the  unseen  powers  that  suffered 
such  a  state  of  things,  that  allowed  a  number  of  little  meannesses, 
accidents,  fatalities,  to  hang  me.  I  began  to  worry  the  turnkey. 
He  gave  me  no  help,  only  shreds  of  information  that  let  me  see 
more  plainly  than  ever  how  set  "  they  "  were  on  sacrificing  me  to 
their  exigencies. 

The  whole  West  Indian  trade  in  London  was  in  an  uproar  over 
the  Pirate  Question  and  over  the  Slave  Question.  Jamaica  was 
still  squealing  for  Separation  before  the  premonitory  grumbles  of 
Abolition.  Horton  Pen,  over  there,  came  back  with  astonishing 
clearness  before  me.  I  seemed  to  hear  old,  wall-eyed,  sandy-headed 
Macdonald,  agitating  his  immense  bulk  of  ill-fitting  white  clothes 
in  front  of  his  newspaper,  and  bellowing  in  his  ox-voice: 

"  Abolition,  they  give  us  Abolition    ...    or  ram  it  down  our 

throats.     They  who  haven't  even  the  spunk  to  rid  us  o'  the  d d 

pirates,  not  the  spunk  to  catch  and  hang  one.  .  .  .  Jock,  me 
lahd,  we's  abolush  them  before  they  sail  touch  our  neegurs.  .  .  . 
Let  them  clear  oor  seas,  let  them  hang  one  pirate,  and  then  talk." 

I  was  the  one  they  were  going  to  hang,  to  consolidate  the  bond 
with  the  old  island.  The  cement  wanted  a  little  blood  in  the 
mixing.  Damn  them!  I  was  going  to  make  a  fight;  they  had  torn 
me  from  Seraphina,  to  fulfill  their  own  accursed  ends.  I  felt 
myself  grow  harsh  and  strong,  as  a  tree  feels  itself  grow  gnarled 
by  winter  storms.    I  said  to  the  turnkey  again  and  again : 

"  Man,  I  will  promise  you  a  thousand  pounds  or  a  pension  for 
life,  if  you  will  get  a  letter  through  to  my  mother  or  Squire 
Rooksby  of  Horton." 

He  said  he  daren't  do  it ;  enough  was  known  of  him  to  hang  him 
if  he  gave  offense.  His  flabby  fingers  trembled,  and  his  eyes  grew 
large  with  successive  shocks  of  cupidity.  He  became  afraid  of 
coming  near  me;  of  the  strain  of  the  temptation.  On  the  next 
day  he  did  not  speak  a  word,  nor  the  next,  nor  the  next.  I  began 
to  grow  horribly  afraid  of  being  hung.  The  day  before  the  trial 
arrived.    Towards  noon  he  flung  the  door  open. 


PART  FIFTH  399 

"  Here's  paper,  here's  pens,"  he  said.  "  You  can  prepare  your 
defense.  You  may  write  letters.  Oh,  hell!  why  didn't  they  let 
it  come  sooner,  I'd  have  had  your  thousand  pounds.  I'll  run  a 
letter  down  to  your  people  fast  as  the  devil  could  take  it.  I  know 
a  man,  a  gentleman  of  the  road.  For  twenty  pun  promised,  split 
between  us,  he'll  travel  faster'n  Turpin  did  to  York."  He  was 
waving  a  large  sheet  of  newspaper  agitatedly. 

"  What  does  it  mean?  "  I  asked.     My  head  was  whirling. 

"  Radicle  papers  got  a-holt  of  it,"  he  said.  "  Trust  them  for 
nosing  out.  And  the  Government's  answering  them.  They  say 
you're  going  to  suffer  for  your  crimes.  Hark  to  this  .  .  .  um, 
um  .  .  ,  '  The  wretched  felon  now  in  Newgate  will  incur  the 
just  penalty'  .  .  .'  Then  they  slaps  the  West  Indies  in  the  face. 
'  When  the  planters  threaten  to  recur  to  some  other  power  for 
protection,  they,  of  course,  believe  that  the  loss  of  the  colonies 
would  be  severely  felt.    But  .   .   .'  " 

"  The  Lion's  home,"  I  said. 

It  burst  upon  me  that  she  was — that  she  must  be.  Williams — 
or  Sebright — he  was  the  man,  had  been  speaking  up  for  me.  Or 
Seraphina  had  been  to  the  Spanish  ambassador. 

She  was  back;  I  should  see  her.     I  started  up. 

"  The  Lion's  home,"  I  repeated. 

The  turnkey  snarled,  "  She  was  posted  as  overdue  three  days 
ago." 

I  couldn't  believe  it  was  true. 

"  I  saw  it  in  the  papers,"  he  grumbled  on.  "  I  dursn't  tell  you." 
He  continued  violently,  "  Blow  my  dickey.  It  would  make  a  cat 
sick." 

My  sudden  exaltation,  my  sudden  despair,  gave  way  to  indiffer- 
ence. 

"Oh,  coming,  coming!  "  he  shouted,  in  answer  to  an  immense 
bellowing  cry  that  loomed  down  the  passage  without. 

I  heard  him  grumble,  "  Of  course,  of  course.  I  shan't  make  a 
penny."  Then  he  caught  hold  of  my  arm.  "  Here,  come  along, 
someone  to  see  you  in  the  press-yard." 

He  pulled  me  along  the  noisome,  black  warren  of  passages, 
slamming  the  inner  door  viciously  behind  him. 

The  press-yard — the  exercising  ground   for  the  condemned — 


400  ROMANCE 

was  empty;  the  last  batch  had  gone  out;  my  batch  would  be  the 
next  to  come  in,  the  turnkey  said  suddenly.  It  was  a  well  of  a 
place,  high  black  walls  going  up  into  the  desolate,  weeping  sky, 
and  quite  tiny.  At  one  end  was  a  sort  of  slit  in  the  wall, 
closed  with  tall,  immense  windows.  From  there  a  faint  sort  of 
rabbit's  squeak  was  going  up  through  the  immense  roll  and  rumble 
of  traffic  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall.  The  turnkey  pushed  me 
towards  it. 

"Go  on,"  he  said.  "I'll  not  listen;  I  ought  to.  But,  curse 
me,  I'm  not  a  bad  sort,"  he  added  gloomily;  "  I  dare  say  you'll 
make  it  worth  my  while." 

I  went  and  peered  through  the  bars  at  a  faint  object  pressed 
against  other  bars  in  just  such  another  slit  across  a  black  passage. 

"  What,  Jackie,  boy;  what,  Jackie?  " 

Blinking  his  eyes,  as  if  the  dim  light  were  too  strong  for  them, 
a  thin,  bent  man  stood  there  in  a  brilliant  new  court  coat.  His 
face  was  meager  in  the  extreme,  the  nose  and  cheekbones  polished 
and  transparent  like  a  bigaroon  cherry.  A  thin  tuft  of  reddish 
hair  was  brushed  back  from  his  high,  shining  forehead.  It  was 
my  father.    He  exclaimed: 

"What,  Jackie,  boy!  How  old  you  look!"  then  waved  his 
arm  towards  me.    "  In  trouble?  "  he  said.    "  You  in  trouble?  " 

He  rubbed  his  thin  hands  together,  and  looked  round  the  place 
with  a  cultured  man's  air  of  disgust.  I  said,  "  Father!  "  and  he 
suddenly  began  to  talk  very  fast  and  agitatedly  of  what  he  had 
been  doing  for  me.  My  mother,  he  said,  was  crippled  with 
rheumatism,  and  Rooksby  ar\d  Veronica  on  the  preceding  Thurs- 
day had  set  sail  for  Jamaica.  He  had  read  to  my  mother,  beside 
her  bed,  the  newspaper  containing  an  account  of  my  case;  and  she 
had  given  him  money,  and  he  had  started  with  violent  haste  for 
London.  The  haste  and  the  rush  were  still  dazing  him.  He  had 
lived  down  there  in  the  farmhouse  beneath  the  downs,  with  the 
stackyards  under  his  eyes,  with  his  books  of  verse  and  his  few 
prints  on  the  wall My  God,  how  it  all  came  back  to  me. 

In  his  disjointed  speeches,  I  could  see  how  exactly  the  same  it 
all  remained.  The  same  old  surly  man  with  a  squint  had  driven 
him  along  the  muddy  roads  in  the  same  ancient  gig,  past  the  bare 
elms,   to  meet   the  coach.     And   my   father  had   never  been   in 


PART  FIFTH  401 

London  since  he  had  walked  the  streets  with  the  Prince  Regent's 
friends. 

Whilst  he  talked  to  me  there,  lines  of  verse  kept  coming  to  his 
lips;  and,  after  the  habitual  pleasure  of  the  apt  quotation,  he  felt 
acutely  shocked  at  the  inappropriateness  of  the  place,  the  press- 
yard,  with  the  dim  light  weeping  downwards  between  immensely 
high  walls,  and  the  desultory  snowHakes  that  dropped  between  us. 
And  he  had  tried  so  hard,  in  his  emergency,  to  be  practical.  When 
he  had  reached  London,  before  even  attempting  to  see  me,  he  had 
run  from  minister  to  minister  trying  to  influence  them  in  my 
favor — and  he  reached  me  in  Newgate  with  nothing  at  all  efEected. 

I  seemed  to  know  him  then,  so  intimately,  so  much  better  than 
anything  else  in  the  world. 

He  began,  "  I  had  my  idea  in  the  up-coach  last  night.  I 
thought,  '  A  very  great  personage  was  indebted  to  me  in  the  old 
days  (more  indebted  than  you  are  aware  of,  Johnnie).  I  will 
intercede  with  him.'  That  was  why  my  first  step  was  to  my  old 
tailor's  in  Conduit  Street.  Because  .  .  .  what  is  fit  for  a  farm 
for  a  palace  were  low."  He  stopped,  reflected,  then  said,  "  What 
is  fit  for  the  farm  for  the  palace  were  low." 

He  felt  across  his  coat  for  his  breast  pocket.  It  was  what  he 
had  done  years  and  years  ago,  and  all  these  years  between,  inscribe 
ideas  for  lines  of  verse  in  his  pocket-book.     I  said: 

"  You  have  seen  the  king?  " 

His  face  lengthened  a  little.  "  Not  seen  him.  But  I  found 
one  of  the  duke's  secretaries,  a  pleasant  young  fellow  .  .  .  not 
such  as  we  used  to  be.  But  the  duke  was  kind  enough  to  interest 
himself.  Perhaps  my  name  has  lived  in  the  land.  I  was  called 
Curricle  Kemp,  as  I  may  have  told  you,  because  I  drove  a  ver- 
milion one  with  green  and  gilt  wheels.  .  .  ." 

His  face,  peering  at  me  through  the  bars,  had,  for  a  moment,  a 
flush  of  pride.  Then  he  suddenly  remembered,  and,  as  if  to  pro- 
pitiate his  own  reproof,  he  went  on : 

"  I  saw  the  Secretary  of  State,  and  he  assured  me,  very  civilly, 
that  not  even  the  highest  personage  in  the  land.  .  .  ."  He  dropped 
his  voice,  "  Jackie,  boy,"  he  said,  his  narrow-lidded  eyes  peering 
miserably  across  at  me,  "  there's  not  even  hope  of  a  reprieve  after- 
wards." 


402  ROMANCE 

I  leaned  my  face  wearily  against  the  iron  bars.  What,  after 
all,  was  the  use  of  fighting  if  the  Lion  were  not  back? 

Then,  suddenly,  as  the  sound  of  his  words  echoed  down  the 
bare,  black  corridors,  he  seemed  to  realize  the  horror  of  it.  His 
face  grew  absolutely  white,  he  held  his  head  erect,  as  if  listening  to 
a  distant  sound.  And  then  he  began  to  cry — horribly,  and  for  a 
long  time. 

It  was  I  that  had  to  comfort  him.  His  head  had  bowed  at  the 
conviction  of  his  hopeless  uselessness;  all  through  his  own  life  he 
had  been  made  ineffectual  by  his  indulgence  in  perfectly  inno- 
cent, perfectly  trivial  enjoyments,  and  now,  in  this  extremity 
of  his  only  son,  he  was  rendered  almost  fantastically  of  no 
avail. 

"No,  no,  sir!  You  have  done  all  that  anyone  could;  you 
couldn't  break  these  walls  down.    Nothing  else  would  help." 

Small,  hopeless  sobs  shook  him  continually.  His  thin,  delicate 
white  fingers  gripped  the  black  grille,  with  the  convulsive  grasp 
of  a  very  weak  man.  It  was  more  distressing  to  me  than  anything 
I  had  ever  seen  or  felt.  The  mere  desire,  the  intense  desire  to 
comfort  him,  made  me  get  a  grip  upon  myself  again.  And  I  re- 
membered that,  now  that  I  could  communicate  with  the  outer  air, 
it  was  absolutely  easy;  he  would  save  my  life.     I  said: 

"  You  have  only  to  go  to  Clapham,  sir." 

And  the  moment  I  was  in  a  state  to  command  him,  to  direct 
him,  to  give  him  something  to  do,  he  became  a  changed  man.  He 
looked  up  and  listened.  I  told  him  to  go  to  Major  Cowper's. 
It  would  be  easy  enough  to  find  him  at  Clapham.  Cowper,  I 
remembered,  could  testify  to  my  having  been  seized  by  Tomas 
Castro.  He  had  seen  me  fight  on  the  decks.  And  what  was 
more,  he  would  certainly  know  the  addresses  of  Kingston  planters, 
if  any  were  in  London.  They  could  testify  that  I  had  been  in 
Jamaica  all  the  while  Nikola  el  Escoces  was  in  Rio  Medio.  I 
knew  there  were  some.  My  father  was  fidgeting  to  be  gone.  He 
had  his  line  marked  for  him,  and  a  will  directing  his  own.  He  was 
not  the  same  man.  But  I  particularly  told  him  to  send  me  a 
lawyer  first  of  all. 

"Yes,  yes!"  he  said  fidgeting  to  go,  "to  Major  Cowper's. 
Let  me  write  his  address." 


PART  FIFTH  403 

"  And  a  solicitor,"  I  said.  "  Send  him  to  me  on  your  way 
there." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  be  able  to  be  of  use  to  the  solicitor. 
As  a  rule,  they  are  men  of  no  great  perspicacity." 

And  he  went  hurriedly  away. 

The  real  torture,  the  agony  of  suspense  began  then.  I  steadied 
my  nerves  by  trying  to  draw  up  notes  for  my  speech  to  the  jury 
on  the  morrow.     That  was  the  turnkey's  idea. 

He  said,  "  Slap  your  chest,  'peal  to  the  honor  of  a  British  gent, 
and  pitch  it  in  strong." 

It  was  not  much  good ;  I  could  not  keep  to  any  logical  sequence 
of  thought,  my  mind  was  forever  wandering  to  what  my  father 
was  doing.  I  pictured  him  in  his  new  blue  coat,  running  agi- 
tatedly through  crowded  streets,  his  coat-tails  flying  behind  his 
thin  legs.  The  hours  dragged  on,  and  it  was  a  matter  of  minutes. 
I  had  to  hold  upon  the  table  edge  to  keep  myself  from  raging 
about  the  cell.  I  tried  to  bury  myself  again  in  the  scheme  for  my 
defense.  I  wondered  whom  my  father  would  have  found.  There 
was  a  man  called  Gary  who  had  gone  home  from  Kingston.  He 
had  a  bald  head  and  blue  eyes;  he  must  remember  me.  If  he 
would  corroborate!  And  the  lawyer,  when  he  came,  might  take 
another  line  of  defense.  It  began  to  fall  dusk  slowly,  through  the 
small  barred  windows. 

The  entire  night  passed  without  a  word  from  my  father.  I 
paced  up  and  down  the  whole  time,  composing  speeches  to  the 
jury.  And  then  the  day  broke.  I  calmed  myself  with  a  sort  of 
frantic  energy. 

Early  the  jailer  came  in,  and  began  fussing  about  my  cell. 

"  Case  comes  on  about  one,"  he  said.  "  Grand  jury  at  half 
after  twelve.  No  fear  they  won't  return  a  true  bill.  Grand  jury, 
five  West  India  merchants.  They  means  to  have  you.  'Torney- 
General,  S'lic'tor-General,  S'r  Robert  Mead,  and  five  juniors  agin 
you.  .  .  .  You  take  my  tip.  Throw  yourself  on  the  mercy  of 
the  court,  and  make  a  rousing  speech  with  a  young  'ooman  in  it. 
Not  that  you'll  get  much  mercy  from  them.  They  Admir'lty 
j edges  is  all  hangers.  'S  we  say,  '  Oncet  the  anchor  goes  up  in 
the  Old  Bailey,  there  aint  no  hope.     We  begins  to  clean  out  the 


404  ROMANCE 

c'ndemned  cell,  here.  Sticks  the  anchor  up  over  their  heads,  when 
it  is  Hadmir'lty  case,'  "  he  commented. 

I  listened  to  him  with  strained  attention.  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  miss  not  a  word  uttered  that  day.    It  was  my  only  chance. 

"You  don't  know  anyone  from  Jamaica?"  I  asked. 

He  shook  his  bullet  head,  and  tapped  his  purple  nose.  "  Can't 
be  done,"  he  said.  "  You'd  get  a  ornery  hallybi  fer  a  guinea  a 
head,  but  they'd  keep  out  of  this  case.  They've  necks  like  you 
and  me." 

Whilst  he  was  speaking,  the  whole  of  the  outer  world,  as  far 
as  it  affected  me,  came  suddenly  in  upon  me — that  was  what  I 
meant  to  the  great  city  that  lay  all  round,  the  world,  in  the  center 
of  which  was  my  cell.  To  the  great  mass,  I  was  matter  for  a  sensa- 
tion; to  them  I  might  prove  myself  beneficial  in  this  business. 
Perhaps  there  were  others  who  were  thinking  I  might  be  useful 
in  one  way  or  another.  There  were  the  ministers  of  the  Crown, 
who  did  not  care  much  whether  Jamaica  separated  or  not.  But 
they  wanted  to  hang  me  because  they  would  be  able  to  say  dis- 
dainfully to  the  planters,  "  Separate  if  you  like;  we've  done  our 
duty,  we've  hanged  a  man." 

All  those  people  had  their  eyes  on  me,  and  they  were  about  the 
only  ones  who  knew  of  my  existence.  That  was  the  end  of  my 
Romance!  Romance!  The  broad-sheet  sellers  would  see  to  it 
afterwards  with  a  "  Dying  confession." 


CHAPTER  IV 

I  NEVER  saw  my  father  again  until  I  was  in  the  prisoner's 
anteroom  at  the  Old  Bailey.  It  was  full  of  lounging 
men,  whose  fleshy  limbs  bulged  out  against  the  tight,  loud 
checks  of  their  coats  and  trousers.  These  were  jailers  waiting  to 
bring  in  their  prisoners.  On  the  other  side  of  the  black  door  the 
Grand  Jury  was  deliberating  on  my  case,  behind  another,  the  court 
was  in  waiting  to  try  me.  I  was  in  a  sort  of  tired  lull.  All  night 
I  had  been  pacing  up  and  down,  trying  to  bring  my  brain  to  think 
of  points — points  in  my  defense.  It  was  very  difficult.  I  knew 
that  I  must  keep  cool,  be  calm,  be  lucid,  be  convincing;  and  my 
brain  had  reeled  at  times,  even  in  the  darkness  of  the  cell.  I  knew 
it  had  reeled,  because  I  remembered  that  once  I  had  fallen  against 
the  stone  of  one  of  the  walls,  and  once  against  the  door.  Here,  in 
the  light,  with  only  a  door  between  myself  and  the  last  scene,  I 
regained  my  hold.  I  was  going  to  fight  every  inch  from  start  to 
finish.  I  was  going  to  let  no  chink  of  their  armor  go  untried. 
I  was  going  to  make  a  good  fight.  My  teeth  chattered  like  cas- 
tanets, jarring  in  my  jaws  until  it  was  painful.  But  that  was 
only  with  the  cold. 

A  hubbub  of  expostulation  was  going  on  at  the  third  door.  My 
turnkey  called  suddenly: 

"  Let  the  genman  in,  Charlie.  Pal  o'  ourn,"  and  my  father 
ran  huntedly  into  the  room.  He  began  an  endless  tale  of  a  hack- 
ney coachman  who  had  stood  in  front  of  the  door  of  his  coach  to 
prevent  his  number  being  taken;  of  a  crowd  of  caddee-smashers, 
who  had  hustled  him  and  filched  his  purse.  "  Of  course,  I  made 
a  fight  for  it,"  he  said,  "a  damn  good  fight,  considering.  It's  in 
the  blood.  But  the  watch  came,  and,  in  short — on  such  an  oc- 
casion as  this  there  is  no  time  for  words — I  passed  the  night  in 
the  watch-house.  Many  and  many  a  night  I  passed  there  when  I 
and  Lord But  I  am  losing  time." 

405 


4o6  ROMANCE 

"  You  aint  fit  to  walk  the  streets  of  London  alone,  sir,"  the 
turnkey  said. 

My  father  gave  him  a  corner  of  his  narrow-lidded  eyes.  "  My 
man,"  he  said,  "  I  walked  the  streets  with  the  highest  in  the  land  be- 
fore your  mother  bore  you  in  Bridewell,  or  whatever  jail  it  was." 

"  Oh,  no  offense,"  the  turnkey  muttered. 

I  said,  "  Did  you  find  Cowper,  sir?    Will  he  give  evidence?  " 

"  Jackie,"  he  said  agitatedly,  as  if  he  were  afraid  of  offending 
me,  "  he  said  you  had  filched  his  wife's  rings." 

That,  in  fact,  was  what  Major  Cowper  had  said — that  I  had 
dropped  into  their  ship  near  Port  Royal  Heads,  and  had  after- 
wards gone  away  with  the  pirates  who  had  filched  his  wife's  rings. 
My  father,  in  his  indignation,  had  not  even  deigned  to  ask  him 
for  the  address  of  Jamaica  planters  in  London;  and  on  his  way 
back  to  find  a  solicitor  he  had  come  into  contact  with  those  street 
rowdies  and  the  watch.  He  had  only  just  come  from  before  the 
magistrates. 

A  man  with  one  eye  poked  his  head  suddenly  from  behind  the 
Grand  Jury  door.     He  jerked  his  head  in  my  direction. 

"  True  bill  against  that  'ere,"  he  said,  then  drew  his  head  in 
again. 

"  Jackie,  boy,"  my  father  said,  putting  a  thin  hand  on  my  wrist, 
and  gazing  imploringly  into  my  eyes,  "  I'm  .  .  .  I'm  ...  I 
can't  tell  you  how.   .   .  ,"  , 

I  said,  "  It  doesn't  matter,  father."  I  felt  a  foretaste  of  how 
my  past  would  rise  up  to  crush  me.  Cowper  had  let  that  wife  of 
his  coerce  him  into  swearing  my  life  away.  I  remembered  vividly 
his  blubbering  protestations  of  friendship  when  I  persuaded  Tomas 
Castro  to  return  him  his  black  deed-box  with  the  brass  handle,  on 
that  deck  littered  with  rubbish.  ..."  Oh,  God  bless  you,  God 
bless  you.  You  have  saved  me  from  starvation.  .  .  ."  There 
had  been  tears  in  his  old  blue  eyes.  "  If  you  need  it  I  will  go  any- 
where ...  do  anything  to  help  you.  On  the  honor  of  a  gentle- 
man and  a  soldier."  I  had,  of  course,  recommended  his  wife  to 
give  up  her  rings  when  the  pirates  were  threatening  her  in  the 
cabin.    The  other  door  opened,  another  man  said  : 

"  Now,  then,  in  with  that  carrion.  D'you  want  to  keep  the 
judges  waiting?  " 


PART  FIFTH  407 

I  stepped  through  the  door  straight  down  into  the  dock;  there 
was  a  row  of  spikes  in  the  front  of  it.  I  wasn't  afraid ;  three  men 
in  enormous  wigs  and  ermine  robes  faced  me;  four  in  short  wigs 
had  their  heads  together  like  parrots  on  a  branch.  A  fat  man, 
bareheaded,  with  a  gilt  chain  round  his  neck,  slipped  from  behind 
into  a  seat  beside  the  highest  placed  judge.  He  was  wiping  his 
mouth  and  munching  with  his  jaws.  On  each  side  of  the  judges, 
beyond  the  short-wigged  assessors,  were  chairs  full  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen.  They  all  had  their  eyes  upon  me.  I  saw  it  all  very 
plainly.  I  was  going  to  see  everything,  to  keep  my  eyes  open, 
not  to  let  any  chance  escape.  I  wondered  why  a  young  girl  with 
blue  eyes  and  pink  cheeks  tittered  and  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
I  did  not  know  what  was  amusing.  What  astonished  me  was  the 
smallness,  the  dirt,  the  want  of  dignity  of  the  room  itself.  I 
thought  they  must  be  trying  a  case  of  my  importance  there  by  mis- 
take. Presently  I  noticed  a  great  gilt  anchor  above  the  judges' 
head.  I  wondered  why  it  was  there,  until  I  remembered  it  was 
an  Admiralty  Court.  I  thought,  suddenly,  "  Ah !  if  I  had  thought 
to  tell  my  father  to  go  and  see  if  the  Lion  had  come  in  in  the 
night!  " 

A  man  was  bawling  out  a  number  of  names.  ..."  Peter 
Plimley,  gent.,  any  challenge.  .  .  .  Lazarus  Cohen,  merchant, 
any  challenge.   .   .   ." 

The  turnkey  beside  me  leant  with  his  back  against  the  spikes. 
He  was  talking  to  the  man  who  had  called  us  in. 

"  Lazarus  Cohen,  West  Indian  merchant.  .  .  .  Lord,  well, 
I'd  challenge.   .   .   ." 

The  other  man  said,  "  S — sh." 

"  His  old  dad  give  me  five  shiners  to  put  him  up  to  a  thing  if 
I  could,"  the  turnkey  said  again. 

I  didn't  catch  his  meaning  until  an  old  man  with  a  very  ragged 
gown  was  handing  up  a  book  to  a  row  of  others  in  a  box  so  near 
that  I  could  almost  have  touched  them.  Then  I  realized  that  the 
turnkey  had  been  winking  to  me  to  challenge  the  jury.  I  called 
out  at  the  highest  of  the  judges: 

"  I  protest  against  that  jury.  It  is  packed.  Half  of  them,  at 
least,  are  West  Indian  merchants." 

There  was  a  stir  all  over  the  court.     I  realized  then  that  what 


4o8  ROMANCE 

had  seemed  only  a  mass  of  stuffs  of  some  sort  were  human  beings 
all  looking  at  me.  The  judge  I  had  called  to  opened  a  pair  of 
dim  eyes  upon  me,  clasped  and  unclasped  his  hands,  very  dry, 
ancient,  wrinkled.     The  judge  on  his  right  called  angrily: 

"  Nonsense,  it  is  too  late.  .  .  .  They  are  being  sworn.  You 
should  have  spoken  when  the  names  were  read."  Underneath 
his  wig  was  an  immensely  broad  face  with  glaring  yellow 
eyes. 

I  said,  "  It  is  scandalous.  You  want  to  murder  me.  How 
should  I  know  what  you  do  in  your  courts?  I  say  the  jury  is 
packed." 

The  very  old  judge  closed  his  eyes,  opened  them  again,  then 
gasped  out: 

"  Silence.  We  are  here  to  try  you.  This  is  a  court  of 
aw. 

The  turnkey  pulled  my  sleeve  under  cover  of  the  planking. 
"  Treat  him  civil,"  he  whispered,  "  Lord  Justice  Stowell  of  the 
Hadmir'lty.  'Tother's  Baron  Garrow  of  the  Common  Law ;  a 
beast;  him  as  hanged  that  kid.  You  can  sass  him;  it  doesn't 
matter." 

Lord  Stowell  waved  his  hand  to  the  clerk  with  the  ragged 
gown ;  the  book  passed  from  hand  to  hand  along  the  faces  of  the 
jury,  the  clerk  gabbling  all  the  while.  The  old  judge  said  sud- 
denly, in  an  astonishingly  deep,  majestic  voice: 

"  Prisoner  at  the  bar,  you  must  understand  that  we  are  here 
to  give  you  an  impartial  trial  according  to  the  laws  of  this  land. 
If  you  desire  advice  as  to  the  procedure  of  this  court  you  can 
have  it." 

I  said,  "  I  still  protest  against  that  jury.  I  am  an  innocent 
man,  and " 

He  answered  querulously,  "  Yes,  yes,  afterwards."  And  then 
creaked,  "  Now  the  indictment.    .    .    ." 

Someone  hidden  from  me  by  three  barristers  began  to  read  in 
a  loud  voice  not  very  easy  to  follow.    I  caught: 

"  For  that  the  said  John  Kemp,  alias  Nichols,  alias  Nikola 
el  Escoces,  alias  el  Demonio,  alias  el  Diabletto,  on  the  twelfth  of 
May  last,  did  feloniously  and  upon  the  high  seas  piratically  seize 
a  certain  ship  called  the  Victoria   .   .   .   um   .   .   .   um,  the  proper- 


PART  FIFTH  409 

ties  of  Hyman  Cohen  and  others  .  .  .  and  did  steal  and  take 
therefrom  six  hundred  and  thirty  barrels  of  coffee  of  the  value  of 
.  ,  .  um  .  .  .  um  .  .  .  um  .  .  .  one  hundred  and  one  barrels 
of  coffee  of  the  value  of  .  .  .  ninety-four  half  kegs  .  .  .  and 
divers  others   .   .   ." 

I  gave  an  immense  sigh.  .  .  .  That  was  it,  then.  I  had  heard 
of  the  Victoria;  it  was  when  I  was  at  Horton  that  the  news  of  her 
loss  reached  us.  Old  Macdonald  had  sworn;  it  was  the  day  a 
negro  called  Apollo  had  taken  to  the  bush.  I  ought  to  be  able  to 
prove  that.  Afterwards,  one  of  the  judges  asked  me  if  I  pleaded 
guilty  or  not  guilty.  I  began  a  long  wrangle  about  being  John 
Kemp  but  not  Nikola  el  Escoces.  I  was  going  to  fight  every  inch 
of  the  way.    They  said : 

"  You  will  have  your  say  afterwards.  At  present,  guilty  or  not 
guilty?  " 

I  refused  to  plead  at  all ;  I  was  not  the  man.  The  third  judge 
woke  up,  and  said  hurriedly: 

"  That  is  a  plea  of  not  guilty,  enter  it  as  such."  Then  he  went 
to  sleep  again.  The  young  girl  on  the  bench  beside  him  laughed 
joyously,  and  Mr.  Baron  Garrow  nodded  round  at  her,  then 
snapped  viciously  at  me: 

"  You  don't  make  your  case  any  better  by  this  sort  of  foolery." 
His  eyes  glared  at  me  like  an  awakened  owl's. 

I  said,  "  I'm  fighting  for  my  neck  .  .  .  and  you'll  have  to 
fight,  too,  to  get  it." 

The  old  judge  said  angrily,  "  Silence,  or  you  will  have  to  be 
removed." 

I  said,  "  I  am  fighting  for  my  life." 

There  was  a  sort  of  buzz  all  round  the  court. 

Lord  Stowell  said,  "  Yes,  yes;  "  and  then,  "  Now,  Mr.  King's 
Advocate,  I  suppose  Mr.  Alfonso  Jervis  opens  for  you." 

A  dusty  wig  swam  up  from  just  below  my  left  hand,  almost  to 
a  level  with  the  dock. 

The  old  judge  shut  his  eyes,  with  an  air  of  a  man  who  is  going 
a  long  journey  in  a  post-chaise.  Mr.  Baron  Garrow  dipped  his 
pen  into  an  invisible  ink-pot,  and  scratched  it  on  his  desk.  A  long 
story  began  to  drone  from  under  the  wig,  an  interminable  farrago 
of  dull  nonsense,  in  a  hypochondriacal  voice;  a  long  tale  about 


4IO  ROMANCE 

piracy  in  general;  piracy  in  the  times  of  the  Greeks,  piracy  in  the 
times  of  William  the  Conqueror  .  .  .  pirata  nequissima 
Eustachio,  and  thanking  God  that  a  case  of  the  sort  had  not  been 
heard  in  that  court  for  an  immense  lapse  of  years.  Below  me  was 
an  array  of  wigs,  on  each  side  a  compressed  mass  of  humanity, 
squeezed  so  tight  that  all  the  eyeballs  seemed  to  be  starting  out  of 
the  heads  towards  me.  From  the  wig  below,  a  translation  of  the 
florid  phrases  of  the  Spanish  papers  was  coming: 

"  His  very  Catholic  Majesty,  out  of  his  great  love  for  his 
ancient  friend  and  ally,  his  Britannic  Majesty,  did  surrender  the 
body  of  the  notorious  El  Demonio,  called  also    .    .    ." 

I  began  to  wonder  who  had  composed  that  precious  document, 
whether  it  w^as  the  Juez  de  la  Primeria  Instancia,  bending  his 
yellow  face  and  sloe-black  eyes  above  the  paper,  over  there  in 
Havana — or  whether  it  was  O'Brien,  who  was  dead  since  the 
writing. 

All  the  while  the  barrister  was  droning  on.  I  did  not  listen 
because  I  had  heard  all  that  before — in  the  room  of  the  Judge  of 
the  First  Instance  at  Havana.  Suddenly  appearing  behind  the 
backs  of  the  row  of  gentlefolk  on  the  bench  was  the  pale,  thin 
face  of  my  father.  I  wondered  which  of  his  great  friends  had 
got  him  his  seat.  He  was  nodding  to  me  and  smiling  faintly.  I 
nodded,  too,  and  smiled  back.  I  was  going  to  show  them  that  I 
was  not  cowed.    The  voice  of  the  barrister  said : 

"  M'luds  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  that  finishes  the  Spanish 
evidence,  which  was  taken  on  commission  on  the  island  of  Cuba. 
We  shall  produce  the  officer  of  H.  M.  S.  Elephant,  to  whom  he 
was  surrendered  by  the  Spanish  authorities  at  Havana,  thus 
proving  the  prisoner  to  be  the  pirate  Nikola,  and  no  other.  We 
come,  now,  to  the  specific  instance,  m'luds  and  gentlemen,  an 
instance  as  vile   .   .   ." 

It  was  some  little  time  before  I  had  grasped  how  absolutely  the 
Spanish  evidence  damned  me.  It  was  as  if,  once  I  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  English  officer  on  Havana  quays,  the  identity  of 
Nikola  could  by  no  manner  of  means  be  shaken  from  round  my 
neck.     The  barrister  came  to  the  facts. 

A  Kingston  ship  had  been  boarded  .  .  .  and  there  w^as  the  old 
story  over  again.    I  seemed  to  see  the  Rio  Medio  schooner  rushing 


PART  FIFTH  41  i 

towards  where  I  and  old  Cowper  and  old  Lumsden  looked  back 
from  the  poop  to  see  her  come  alongside ;  the  strings  of  brown 
pirates  pour  in  empty-handed,  and  out  laden.  Only  in  the  case 
of  the  Victoria  there  were  added  the  ferocities  of  "  the  prisoner 
at  the  bar,  m'luds  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  a  fiend  in  human 
shape,  as  we  shall  prove  with  the  aid  of  the  most  respectable  wit- 
nesses.  .   .   ." 

The  man  in  the  wig  sat  down,  and,  before  I  understood  what 
was  happening,  a  fat,  rosy  man — the  Attorney-General — whose 
cheerful  gills  gave  him  a  grotesque  resemblance  to  a  sucking  pig, 
was  calling  "  Edward  Sadler,"  and  the  name  blared  like  sudden 
fire  leaping  up  all  over  the  court.  The  Attorney-General  wagged 
his  gown  into  a  kind  of  bunch  behind  his  hips,  and  a  man,  young, 
fair,  with  a  reddish  beard  and  a  shiny  suit  of  clothes,  sprang  into 
a  little  box  facing  the  jury.  He  bowed  nervously  in  several  direc- 
tions, and  laughed  gently ;  then  he  looked  at  me  and  scowled.  The 
Attorney-General  cleared  his  throat  pleasantly    .    .    . 

"  Mr.  Edward  Sadler,  you  were,  on  May  25th,  chief  mate  of 
the  good  ship  Victoria.   .   .   ." 

The  fair  man  with  the  beard  told  his  story,  the  old  story  of  the 
ship  with  its  cargo  of  coffee  and  dye-wood;  its  good  passage  past 
the  Gran  Caymanos;  the  becalming  off  the  Cuban  shore  in  lati- 
tude so  and  so,  and  the  boarding  of  a  black  schooner,  calling  itself 
a  Mexican  privateer.     I  could  see  all  that. 

"  The  prisoner  at  the  bar  came  alongside  in  a  boat,  with  seven- 
teen Spaniards,"  he  said,  in  a  clear,  expressionless  voice,  looking 
me  full  in  the  face. 

I  called  out  to  the  old  judge,  "  My  Lord  ...  I  protest.  This 
is  perjury.  I  was  not  the  man.  It  was  Nichols,  a  Nova  Sco- 
tian." 

Mr.  Baron  Garrow  roared,  "  Silence,"  his  face  suffused  with 
blood. 

Old  Lord  Stowell  quavered,  "  You  must  respect  the  proced- 
ure.  .   .   ." 

"  Am  I  to  hear  my  life  sworn  away  without  a  word?  "  I  asked. 

He  drew  himself  frostily  into  his  robes.  "  God  forbid,"  he 
said ;  "  but  at  the  proper  time  you  can  cross-examine,  if  you  think 
fit." 


412  ROMANCE 

The  Attorney-General  smiled  at  the  jury-box  and  addressed 
himself  to  Sadler,  with  an  air  of  patience  very  much  tried: 

"  You  swear  the  prisoner  is  the  man?  " 

The  fair  man  turned  his  sharp  blue  eyes  upon  me.  I  called, 
"  For  God's  sake,  don't  perjure  yourself.  You  are  a  decent 
man." 

"  No,  I  won't  swear,"  he  said  slowly.  "  I  think  he  was.  He 
had  his  face  blacked  then,  of  course.  When  I  had  sight  of  him 
at  the  Thames  Court  I  thought  he  was;  and  seeing  the  Spanish 
evidence,  I  don't  see  where's  the  room.   .   .   ." 

"  The  Spanish  evidence  is  part  of  the  plot,"  I  said. 

The  Attorney-General  snickered.  "  Go  on,  Mr.  Sadler,"  he 
said.    "  Let's  have  the  rest  of  the  plot  unfolded." 

A  juryman  laughed  suddenly,  and  resumed  an  abashed  sudden 
silence.  Sadler  went  on  to  tell  the  old  story.  ...  I  saw  it  all 
as  he  spoke;  only  gaunt,  shiny-faced,  yellow  Nichols  was  chew- 
ing and  hitching  his  trousers  in  place  of  my  Tomas,  with  his  san- 
guine oaths  and  jerked  gestures.  And  there  was  Nichols'  wanton, 
aimless  ferocity. 

"  He  had  two  pistols,  which  he  fired  twice  each,  while  we  were 
hoisting  the  studding-sails  by  his  order,  to  keep  up  with  the 
schooner.  He  fired  twice  into  the  crew.  One  of  the  men  hit 
died  afterwards.   .   .   ." 

Later,  another  vessel,  an  American,  had  appeared  in  the  offing, 
and  the  pirates  had  gone  in  chase  of  her.  He  finished,  and  Lord 
Stowell  moved  one  of  his  ancient  hands.  It  was  as  if  a  gray  lizard 
had  moved  on  his  desk,  a  little  toward  me. 

"  Now,  prisoner,"  he  said. 

I  drew  a  deep  breath.  I  thought  for  a  minute  that,  after  all, 
there  was  a  little  of  fair  play  in  the  game — that  I  had  a  decent, 
fair,  blue-eyed  man  in  front  of  me.  He  looked  hard  at  me;  I 
hard  at  him ;  it  was  as  if  he  were  going  to  wrestle  for  a  belt.  The 
young  girl  on  tTie  bench  had  her  lips  parted  and  leant  forward, 
her  head  a  little  on  one  side. 

I  said,  "  You  won't  swear  I  was  the  man  .  .  .  Nikola  el 
Escoces?  " 

He  looked  meditatively  into  my  eyes;  it  was  a  duel  between 
US. 


PART  FIFTH  413 

"  I  won't  swear,"  he  said.  "  You  had  your  face  blacked,  and 
didn't  wear  a  beard," 

A  soft  growth  of  hair  had  come  out  over  my  cheeks  whilst  I 
lay  in  prison.  I  rubbed  my  hand  against  it,  and  thought  that  he 
had  drawn  first  blood. 

"  You  must  not  say  '  you,'  "  I  said.  "  I  swear  I  was  not  the 
man.     Did  he  talk  like  me  ?  " 

"  Can't  say  that  he  did,"  Sadler  answered,  moving  from  one 
foot  to  the  other, 

"  Had  he  got  eyes  like  me,  or  a  nose,  or  a  mouth?  " 

"  Can't  say,"  he  answered  again.    "  His  face  was  blacked." 

"  Didn't  he  talk  Blue  Nose — in  the  Nova  Scotian  way?  " 

"  Well,  he  did,"  Sadler  assented  slowly.  "  But  anyone  could 
for  a  disguise.    It's  as  easy  as  ..." 

Beside  me,  the  turnkey  whispered  suddenly,  "  Pull  him  up;  stop 
his  mouth." 

I  said,  "Wasn't  he  an  older  man?  Didn't  he  look  between 
forty  and  fifty?  " 

"  What  do  you  look  like?  "  the  chief  mate  asked. 

"  I'm  tvv^enty-four,"  I  answered;  "  I  can  prove  it." 

"  Well,  you  look  forty  and  older,"  he  answered  negligently. 
"  So  did  he." 

His  cool,  disinterested  manner  overwhelmed  me  like  the  blow 
of  an  immense  wave ;  it  proved  so  absolutely  that  I  had  parted  with 
all  semblance  of  youth.  It  was  something  added  to  the  immense 
waste  of  waters  between  myself  and  Seraphina;  an  immense  waste 
of  years.  I  did  not  ask  much  of  the  next  witness;  Sadler  had 
made  me  afraid.  Septimus  Hearn,  the  master  of  the  Victoria, 
was  a  man  with  eyes  as  blue  and  as  cold  as  bits  of  round  blue 
pebble;  a  little  goat's  beard,  iron-gray;  apple-colored  cheeks,  and 
small  gold  earrings  in  his  ears.  He  had  an  extraordinarily  mourn- 
ful voice,  and  a  retrospective  melancholy  of  manner.  He  was 
just  such  another  master  of  a  trader  as  Captain  Lumsden  had 
been;  and  it  was  the  same  story  over  again,  with  little  different 
touches,  the  hard  blue  eyes  gazing  far  over  the  top  of  my  head ;  the 
gnarled  hands  moving  restlessly  on  the  rim  of  his  hat. 

"  Afterwards  the  prisoner  ordered  the  steward  to  give  us  a  drink 
of  brandy.    A  glass  was  offered  me,  but  I  refused  to  drink  it,  and 


414  ROMANCE 

he  said,  '  Who  is  it  that  refuses  to  drink  a  glass  of  brandy?  '  He 
asked  me  what  countryman  I  was,  and  if  I  was  an  American." 

There  were  two  others  from  the  unfortunate  Victoria — a 
Thomas  Davis,  boatswain,  who  had  had  one  of  Nikola's  pistol- 
balls  in  his  hip ;  and  a  sort  of  steward — I  have  forgotten  his  name 
— ^who  had  a  scar  of  a  cutlass  wound  on  his  forehead. 

It  was  horrible  enough;  but  what  distressed  me  more  was  that 
I  could  not  see  what  sort  of  impression  I  was  making.  Once  the 
judge  who  was  generally  asleep  woke  up  and  began  to  scratch 
furiously  with  his  quill;  once  three  of  the  assessors — the  men  in 
short  wigs — began  an  animated  conversation;  one  man  with  a 
thin,  dark  face  laughed  noiselessly,  showing  teeth  like  a  white 
waterfall.  A  man  in  the  body  of  the  court  on  my  left  had  an 
enormous  swelling,  blood-red,  and  looking  as  if  a  touch  must 
burst  it,  under  his  chin;  at  one  time  he  winked  his  eyes  furiously 
for  a  long  time  on  end.  It  seemed  to  me  that  something  in  the 
evidence  must  be  affecting  all  these  people.  The  turnkey  beside 
me  said  to  his  mate,  "  Twig  old  Justice  Best  making  notes  in  his 
stud-calendar,"  and  suddenly  the  conviction  forced  itself  upon 
me  that  the  whole  thing,  the  long  weary  trial,  the  evidence,  the 
parade  of  fairness,  was  being  gone  through  in  a  spirit  of  mockery, 
as  a  mere  formality;  that  the  judges  and  the  assessors,  and  the  man 
with  the  goiter  took  no  interest  whatever  in  my  case.  It  was  a 
foregone  conclusion. 

A  tiny,  fair  man,  with  pale  hair  oiled  and  rather  long  for  those 
days,  and  with  green  and  red  signet  rings  on  fingers  that  he  was 
forever  running  through  that  hair,  came  mincingly  into  the  wit- 
ness-box. He  held  for  a  long  time  what  seemed  to  be  an  amiable 
conversation  with  Sir  Robert  Gifford,  a  tall,  portentous-looking 
man,  who  had  black  beetling  brows,  like  tufts  of  black  horsehair 
sticking  in  the  crannies  of  a  cliff.  The  conversation  went  like 
this: 

"  You  are  the  Hon.  Thomas  Oldham?  " 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"You  know  Kingston,  Jamaica,  very  well?" 

"  I  was  there  four  years — two  as  the  secretary  to  the  cabinet  of 
his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Manchester,  two  as  civil  secretary  to  the 
admiral  on  the  station." 


PART  FIFTH  41 5 

"You  saw  the  prisoner?" 

"  Yes,  three  times." 

I  drew  an  immense  breath;  I  thought  for  a  moment  that  they 
had  dehvered  themselves  into  my  hands.  The  thing  must  prove 
of  itself  that  I  had  been  in  Jamaica,  not  in  Rio  Medio,  through 
those  two  years.  My  heart  began  to  thump  like  a  great  solemn 
drum,  like  Paul's  bell  when  the  king  died — solemn,  insistent, 
dominating  everything.  The  little  man  was  giving  an  account  of 
the  "  'bawminable "  state  oi  confusion  into  which  the  island's 
trade  was  thrown  by  the  misdeeds  of  a  pirate  called  Nikola  el 
Demonio. 

"  I  assure  you,  my  luds,"  he  squeaked,  turning  suddenly  to  the 
judges,  **  the  island  was  wrought  up  into  a  pitch  of  ...  ah 
.  .  .  almost  disloyalty.  The  .  .  .  ah  .  .  .  planters  were  clamor- 
ing for  .  .  .  ah  .  .  .  separation.  And,  to  be  sure,  I  trust  you'll 
hang  the  prisoner,  for  if  you  don't  .  .   ." 

Lord  Stowell  shivered,  and  said  suddenly  with  haste,  "  Mr. 
Oldham,  address  yourself  to  Sir  Robert." 

I  was  almost  happy;  the  cloven  hoof  had  peeped  so  damningly 
out.  The  little  man  bowed  briskly  to  the  old  judge,  asked  for 
a  chair,  sat  himself  down,  and  arranged  his  coat-tails. 

"  As  I  was  saying,"  he  prattled  on,  "  the  trouble  and  the  worry 
that  this  man  caused  to  His  Grace,  myself,  and  Admiral  Rowley 
were  inconceivable.  You  have  no  idea,  you  .  .  .  ah  .  .  .  can't 
conceive.  And  no  wonder,  for,  as  it  turned  out,  the  island  was 
simply  honeycombed  by  his  spies  and  agents.  You  have  no  idea ; 
people  who  seemed  most  respectable,  people  we  ourselves  had 
dealings  with  .   .  ." 

He  rattled  on  at  immense  length,  the  barrister  taking  huge 
pinches  of  yellow  snuff,  and  smiling  genially  with  the  air  of  a 
horse-trainer  watching  a  pony  go  faultlessy  through  difficult 
tricks.     Every  now  and  then  he  flicked  his  whip. 

"  Mr.  Oldham,  you  saw  the  prisoner  three  times.  If  it  does 
not  overtax  your  memory  pray  tell  us."  And  the  little  creature 
pranced  off  in  a  new  direction. 

"  Tax  my  memory !  Gad,  I  like  that.  You  remember  a  man 
who  has  had  your  blood  as  near  as  could  be,  don't  you  ?  " 

I  had  been  looking  at  him  eagerly,  but  my  interest  faded  away 


41 6  ROMANCE 

now.  It  was  going  to  be  the  old  confusing  of  my  identity  with 
Nikola's.  And  yet  I  seemed  to  know  the  little  beggar's  falsetto; 
it  was  a  voice  one  does  not  forget. 

"  Remember!  "  he  squeaked.     "  Gad,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  he 

came  as  near  as  possible You  have  no  idea  what  a  ferocious 

devil  it  is." 

I  was  wondering  why  on  earth  Nichols  should  have  wanted  to 
kill  such  a  little  thing.  Because  it  was  obvious  that  it  must  have 
been  Nichols. 

"  As  near  as  possible  murdered  myself  and  Admiral  Rowley 
and  a  Mr.  Topnambo,  a  most  enlightened  and  loyal  ...  ah 
.   .   .   inhabitant  of  the  island,  on  the  steps  of  a  public  inn." 

I  had  it  then.  It  was  the  little  man  David  Macdonald  had 
rolled  down  the  steps  with,  that  night  at  the  Ferry  Inn  on  the 
Spanish  Town  road. 

"  He  was  lying  in  wait  for  us  with  a  gang  of  assassins.  I  was 
stabbed  on  the  upper  lip.  I  lost  so  much  blood  .  .  .  had  to  be 
invalided  .  .  .  cannot  think  of  horrible  episode  without  shud- 
dering." 

He  had  seen  me  then,  and  when  Ramon  ("a  Spaniard  who  was 
afterwards  proved  to  be  a  spy  of  El  Demonio's — of  the  prisoner's. 
He  was  hung  since  ")  had  driven  me  from  the  place  of  execution 
after  the  hanging  of  the  seven  pirates;  and  he  had  come  into 
Ramon's  store  at  the  moment  when  Carlos  ("a  piratical  devil  if 
ever  there  was  one,"  the  little  man  protested)  had  drawn  me  into 
the  back  room,  where  Don  Balthasar  and  O'Brien  and  Seraphina 
sat  waiting.  The  men  who  were  employed  to  watch  Ramon's  had 
never  seen  me  leave  again,  and  afterwards  a  secret  tunnel  was  dis- 
covered leading  down  to  the  quay. 

"  This,  apparently,  was  the  way  by  which  the  prisoner  used  to 
arrive  and  quit  the  island  secretly,"  he  finished  his  evidence  in 
chief,  and  the  beetle-browed,  portly  barrister  sat  down.  I  was 
not  so  stupid  but  what  I  could  see  a  little,  even  then,  how  the  most 
innocent  events  of  my  past  were  going  to  rise  up  and  crush  me; 
but  I  was  certain  I  could  twist  him  into  admitting  the  goodness 
of  my  tale  which  hadn't  yet  been  told.  He  knew  I  had  been  in 
Jamaica,  and,  put  what  construction  he  liked  on  it,  he  would  have 
to  admit  it.    I  called  out: 


PART  FIFTH  417 

"Thank  God,  my  turn's  come  at  last!  " 

The  faces  of  the  Attorney-General,  the  King's  Advocate,  Sir 
Robert  Gifford,  Mr.  Lawes,  Mr.  Jervis,  of  all  the  seven  counsel 
that  w^ere  arrayed  to  crush  me,  lengthened  into  simultaneous  grins, 
varying  at  the  jury  box.  But  I  didn't  care;  I  grinned,  too.  I 
was  going  to  show  them. 

It  was  as  if  I  flew  at  the  throat  of  that  little  man.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  I  must  be  able  to  crush  a  creature  whose  malice  was  as 
obvious  and  as  nugatory  as  the  green  and  red  rings  that  he  ex- 
hibited in  his  hair  every  few  minutes.  He  wanted  to  show  the 
jury  that  he  had  rings;  that  he  was  a  mincing  swell;  that  I  hadn't 
and  that  I  was  a  bloody  pirate.     I  said: 

"  You  know  that  during  the  whole  two  years  Nichols  was  at 
Rio  I  was  an  improver  at  Horton  Pen  with  the  Macdonalds,  the 
agents  of  my  brother-in-law,  Sir  Ralph  Rooksby.  You  must 
know  these  things.  You  were  one  of  the  Duke  of  Manchester's 
spies." 

We  used  to  call  the  Duke's  privy  council  that. 

"  I  certainly  know  nothing  of  the  sort,"  he  said,  folding  his 
hands  along  the  edge  of  the  witness-box,  as  if  he  had  just  thought 
of  exhibiting  his  rings  in  that  manner.  He  was  abominably  cool. 
I  said: 

"  You  must  have  heard  of  me.  The  Topnambos  knew 
me." 

"  The  Topnambos  used  to  talk  of  a  blackguard  with  a  name 
like  Kemp  who  kept  himself  mighty  out  of  the  way  in  the 
Vale." 

"  You  knew  I  was  on  the  island,"  I  pinned  him  down. 

"  You  used  to  come  to  the  island,"  he  corrected.  "  I've  just 
explained  how.  But  you  were  not  there  much,  or  we  should  have 
been  able  to  lay  hands  on  you.  We  wanted  to.  There  was  a 
warrant  out  after  you  tried  to  murder  us.  But  you  had  been 
smuggled  away  by  Ramon." 

I  tried  again: 

"You  have  heard  of  my  brother-in-law.  Sir  Ralph  Rooksby?" 

I  wanted  to  show  that,  if  I  hadn't  rings,  I  had  relations. 

"  Nevah  heard  of  the  man  in  my  life,"  he  said. 

"  He  was  the  largest  land  proprietor  on  the  island,"  I  said. 


4i8  ROMANCE 

"  Dessay,"  he  said ;  "  I  knew  forty  of  the  largest.  Mostly 
sharpers  in  the  boosing-kens."     He  yawned. 

I  said  viciously: 

"  It  was  your  place  to  know  the  island.  You  knew  Horton 
Pen — the  Macdonalds?" 

The  face  of  jolly  old  Mrs.  Mac.  came  to  my  mind — the  im- 
peccable, Scotch,  sober  respectability. 

"  Oh,  I  knew  the  Macdonalds,"  he  said — "  of  them.  The  uncle 
was  a  damn  rebellious,  canting,  planting  Scotchman.  Horton 
Pen  was  the  center  of  the  Separation  Movement.  We  could  have 
hung  him  if  we'd  wanted  to.  The  nephew  was  the  writer  of  an 
odious  blackmailing  print.  He  calumniated  all  the  decent,  loyal 
inhabitants.  He  was  an  agent  of  you  pirates,  too.  We  arrested 
him — got  his  papers;  know  all  about  your  relations  with  him." 

I  said,  "  That's  all  nonsense.  Let  us  hear  " — the  Attorney- 
General  had  always  said  that — "  what  you  know  of  myself." 

"  What  I  know  of  you,"  he  sniffed,  "  if  it's  a  pleasuah,  was 
something  like  this.  You  came  to  the  island  in  a  mysterious  way, 
gave  out  that  you  were  an  earl's  son,  and  tried  to  get  into  the  very 
excellent  society  of  .  .  .  ah  .  .  .  people  like  my  friends,  the  Top- 
nambos.  But  they  would  not  have  you,  and  after  that  you  kept 
yourself  mighty  close;  no  one  ever  saw  you  but  once  or  twice,  and 
then  it  was  riding  about  at  night  with  that  humpbacked  scoundrel 
of  a  blackmailer.  You,  in  fact,  weren't  on  the  island  at  all,  except 
when  you  came  to  spy  for  the  pirates.  You  used  to  have  long 
confabulations  with  that  scoundrel  Ramon,  who  kept  you  posted 
about  the  shipping.  As  for  the  blackmailer  with  the  humpback, 
David  Macdonald,  you  kept  him,  you  .  .  .  ah  .  .  .  subsidized 
his  filthy  print  to  foment  mutiny  and  murder  among  the  black 
fellows,  and  preach  separation.  You  wanted  to  tie  our  hands,  and 
prevent  our  .  .  .  ah  .  .  .  prosecuting  the  preventive  measures 
against  you.  When  you  found  that  it  was  no  good  you  tried  to 
murder  the  admiral  and  myself,  and  that  very  excellent  man 
Topnambo,  coming  from  a  ball.  After  that  you  were  seen  en- 
couraging seven  of  your  .  .  .  ah  .  .  .  pirate  fellows  whom  we 
were  hanging,  and  you  drove  off  in  haste  with  your  agent,  Ramon, 
before  we  could  lay  hands  on  you,  and  vanished  from  the 
island." 


PART  FIFTH  419 

I  didn't  lose  my  grip ;  I  went  at  him  again,  blindly,  as  if  I  were 
boxing  with  my  eyes  full  of  blood,  but  my  teeth  set  tight.  I 
said: 

"  You  used  to  buy  things  yourself  of  old  Ramon ;  bought  them 
for  the  admiral  to  load  his  frigates  with;  things  he  sold  at  Key 
West." 

"  That  was  one  of  the  lies  your  scoundrel  David  Macdonald 
circulated  against  us." 

"  You  bought  things  .  .  .  even  whilst  you  were  having  his 
store  watched." 

"  Upon  my  soul !  "  he  said. 

"  You  used  to  buy  things.  ..."  I  pinned  him.  He  looked 
suddenly  at  the  King's  Advocate,  then  dropped  his  eyes. 

"  Nevah  bought  a  thing  in  my  life,"  he  said. 

I  knew  the  man  had ;  Ramon  had  told  me  of  his  buying  for  the 
admiral  more  than  three  hundred  barrels  of  damaged  coffee  for 
thirty  pounds.  I  was  in  a  mad  temper.  I  smashed  my  hand  upon 
the  spikes  of  the  rail  in  front  of  me,  and  although  I  saw  hands 
move  impulsively  towards  me  all  over  the  court,  I  did  not  know 
that  my  arm  was  impaled  and  the  blood  running  down. 

"  Perjurer,"  I  shouted,  "  Ramon  himself  told  me." 

"  Ah,  you  were  mighty  thick  with  Ramon  .   .   ."  he  said. 

I  let  him  stand  down.  I  was  done.  Someone  below  said 
harshly,  "  That  closes  our  case,  m'luds,"  and  the  court  rustled  all 
over.  Old  Lord  Stowell  in  front  of  me  shivered  a  little,  looked 
at  the  window,  and  then  said : 

"  Prisoner  at  the  bar,  our  procedure  has  it  that  if  you  wish  to 
say  anything,  you  may  now  address  the  jury.  Afterwards,  if  you 
had  a  counsel,  he  could  call  and  examine  your  witnesses,  if  you 
have  any." 

It  was  growing  very  dark  in  the  court.  I  began  to  tell  my 
story;  it  was  so  plain,  so  evident,  it  shimmered  there  before  me 
....  and  yet  I  knew  it  was  so  useless. 

I  remembered  that  in  my  cell  I  had  reasoned  out  that  I  must 
be  very  constrained;  very  lucid  about  the  opening.  "On  such 
and  such  a  day  I  landed  at  Kingston,  to  become  an  improver  on 
the  estate  of  my  brother-in-law.  He  is  Sir  Ralph  Rooksby  of 
Horton  Priory  in  Kent."     I  did  keep  cool;  I  was  lucid;  I  spoke 


420  ROMANCE 

like  that.  I  had  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  face  of  the  young  girl  upon 
the  bench.  I  remember  it  so  well.  Her  eyes  were  fixed,  fasci- 
nated, upon  my  hand.  I  tried  to  move  it,  and  found  that  it  was  ' 
stuck  upon  the  spike  on  which  I  had  jammed  it.  I  moved  it 
carelessly  away,  and  only  felt  a  little  pain,  as  if  from  a  pin-prick; 
but  the  blood  was  dripping  on  to  the  floor,  pat,  pat.  Later  on, 
a  man  lit  the  candles  on  the  judge's  desk,  and  the  court  looked, 
different.  There  were  deep  shadows  everywhere;  and  the  illu- 
minated face  of  Lord  Stowell  looked  grimmer,  less  kind,  more 
ancient,  more  impossible  to  bring  a  ray  of  sympathy  to.  Down 
below,  the  barristers  of  the  prosecution  leaned  back  with  their 
arms  all  folded,  and  the  air  of  men  resting  in  an  interval  of 
cutting  down  a  large  tree.  The  barristers  who  were  merely  lis- 
teners looked  at  me  from  time  to  time.  I  heard  one  say,  "  That 
man  ought  to  have  his  hand  bound  up."  I  was  telling  the  story  of 
my  life,  that  was  all  I  could  do. 

"  As  for  Ramon,  how  could  I  know  he  was  in  the  pay  of  the 
pirates,  even  if  he  were.  I  swear  I  did  not  know.  Everyone  on 
the  island  had  dealings  with  him,  the  admiral  himself.  That  is  not 
calumny.  On  my  honor,  the  admiral  did  have  dealings.  Some  of 
you  have  had  dealings  with  forgers,  but  that  does  not  make  you 
forgers." 

I  warmed  to  it;  I  found  words.  I  was  telling  the  story  for 
that  young  girl.  Suddenly  I  saw  the  white  face  of  my  father  peep 
at  me  between  the  head  of  an  old  man  with  an  enormous  nose, 
and  a  stout  lady  in  a  brown  cloak  that  had  a  number  of  little 
watchmen's  capes.  He  smiled  suddenly,  and  nodded  again  and 
again,  opened  his  eyes,  shut  them;  furtively  waved  a  hand.  It 
distracted  me,  threw  me  off  my  balance,  my  coolness  was  gone. 
It  was  as  if  something  had  snapped.  After  that  I  remember  very 
little;  I  think  I  may  have  quoted  the  "  Prisoner  of  Chillon,"  be- 
cause he  put  it  into  my  head. 

I  seemed  to  be  back  again  in  Cuba.  Down  below  me  the  bar- 
risters were  talking.  The  King's  Advocate  pulled  out  a  puce- 
colored  bandanna,  and  waved  it  abroad  preparatorily  to  blowing 
his  nose.  A  cloud  of  the  perfume  of  a  West  Indian  bean  went  up 
from  it,  sweet  and  warm.  I  had  smelt  it  last  at  Rio,  the  sensation 
was  so  strong  that  I  could  not  tell  where  I  was.     The  candles 


PART  FIFTH  421 

made  a  yellow  glow  on  the  judge's  desk;  but  it  seemed  to  be  the 
blaze  of  light  in  the  cell  where  Nichols  and  the  Cuban  had  fenced. 
I  thought  I  was  back  in  Cuba  again.  The  people  in  the  court 
disappeared  in  the  deepening  shadows.  At  times  I  could  not 
speak.     Then  I  would  begin  again. 

If  there  were  to  be  any  possibility  of  saving  my  life,  I  had  to 
tell  what  I  had  been  through — and  to  tell  it  vividly — I  had  to 
narrate  the  story  of  my  life ;  and  my  whole  life  came  into  my 
mind.  It  was  Seraphina  who  was  the  essence  of  my  life ;  who 
spoke  with  the  voice  of  all  Cuba,  of  all  Spain,  of  all  Romance. 
I  began  to  talk  about  old  Don  Balthasar  Riego.  I  began  to  talk 
about  Manuel-del-Popolo,  of  his  red  shirt,  his  black  eyes,  his 
mandolin;  I  saw  again  the  light  of  his  fires  flicker  on  the  other 
side  of  the  ravine  in  front  of  the  cave. 

And  I  rammed  all  that  into  my  story,  the  story  I  was  telling 
to  that  young  girl.  I  knew  very  well  that  I  was  carrying  my 
audience  with  me;  I  knew  how  to  do  it,  I  had  it  in  the  blood. 
The  old  pale,  faded,  narrow-lidded  father  who  was  blinking  and 
nodding  at  me,  had  been  one  of  the  best  raconteurs  that  ever  was. 
I  knew  how.  In  the  black  shadows  of  the  wall  of  the  court  I 
could  feel  the  eyes  upon  me ;  I  could  see  the  parted  lips  of  the 
young  girl  as  she  leaned  further  towards  me.  I  knew  it  because, 
when  one  of  the  barristers  below  raised  his  voice,  someone  hissed 
"  S — sh  "  from  the  shadows.  And  suddenly  it  came  into  my 
head,  that  even  if  I  did  save  my  life  by  talking  about  these  things, 
it  would  be  absolutely  useless.  I  could  never  go  back  again ;  never 
be  the  boy  again;  never  hear  the  true  voice  of  the  Ever  Faithful 
Island.  What  did  it  matter  even  if  I  escaped ;  even  if  I  could  go 
back?  The  sea  would  be  there,  the  sky,  the  silent  dim  hills,  the 
listless  surge;  but  /  should  never  be  there,  I  should  be  altered 
for  good  and  all.  I  should  never  see  the  breathless  dawn  in  the 
pondwater  of  Havana  harbor,  never  be  there  with  Seraphina  close 
beside  me  in  the  little  drogher.  All  that  remained  was  to  see 
this  fight  through,  and  then  have  done  with  fighting.  I  remember 
the  intense  bitterness  of  that  feeling  and  the  oddity  of  it  all;  of 
the  one  "  I  "  that  felt  like  that,  of  the  other  that  was  raving  in 
front  of  a  lot  of  open-eyed  idiots,  three  old  judges,  and  a  young 
girl.     And,  in  a  queer  way,  the  thoughts  of  the  one  "  I  "  floated 


422  ROMANCE 

through  into  the  words  of  the  other,  that  seemed  to  be  waving 
its  hands  in  its  final  struggle,  a  little  way  in  front  of  me. 

"  Look  at  me  .  .  .  look  at  what  they  have  made  of  me,  one 
and  the  other  of  them.  I  was  an  innocent  boy.  What  am  I  now  ? 
They  have  taken  my  life  from  me,  let  them  finish  it  how  they  will, 
what  does  it  matter  to  me,  what  do  I  care?  " 

There  was  a  rustle  of  motion  all  round  the  court.  On  board 
Rowley's  flagship  the  heavy  irons  had  sawed  open  my  wrists.  I 
hadn't  been  ironed  in  Newgate,  but  the  things  had  healed  up  very 
little.  I  happened  to  look  down  at  my  claws  of  hands  with  the 
grime  of  blood  that  the  dock  spikes  had  caused. 

"  What  sort  of  a  premium  is  it  that  you  set  on  sticking  to  the 
right?  Is  this  how  you  are  going  to  encourage  the  others  like 
me?  What  do  I  care  about  your  death?  What's  life  to  me? 
Let  them  get  their  scaffold  ready,  I  have  suffered  enough  to  be 
put  out  of  my  misery.  God,  I  have  suffered  enough  with  one  and 
another.  Look  at  my  hands,  I  say.  Look  at  my  wrists,  and  say 
if  I  care  any  more."  I  held  my  ghastly  paws  high,  and  the  candle 
light  shone  upon  them. 

Out  of  the  black  shadows  came  shrieks  of  women  and  curses. 
I  saw  my  young  girl  put  her  hands  over  her  face  and  slip  slowly, 
very  slowly,  from  her  chair,  down  out  of  sight.  People  were 
staggering  in  different  directions.  I  had  had  more  to  say,  but 
I  forgot  in  my  concern  for  the  young  girl.  The  turnkey  pulled 
my  sleeve  and  said: 

"  I  say,  that  aint  true,  is  it,  it  aint  true?  "  Because  he  seemed 
not  to  want  it  to  have  been  true,  I  glowed  for  a  moment  with  the 
immense  pride  of  my  achievement.    I  had  made  them  see  things. 

A  minute  after,  I  understood  how  futile  it  was.  I  was  not  a 
fool  even  in  my  then  half  mad  condition.  The  real  feeling  of  the 
place  came  back  upon  me,  the  "  Court  of  Law  "  of  it.  The 
King's  Advocate  was  whispering  to  the  Attorney-General,  he 
motioned  with  his  hand,  first  in  my  direction,  then  towards  the 
jury;  then  they  both  laughed  and  nodded.  They  knew  the  ropes 
too  well  for  me,  and  there  were  seven  West  India  merchants  up 
there  who  would  remember  their  pockets  in  a  minute.  But  I 
didn't  care.    I  had  made  them  see  things. 


CHAPTER  V 

I  HAD  shot  my  bolt  and  I  was  going  to  die;  I  could  see  it  in 
the  way  the  King's  Advocate  tossed  his  head  back,  fluttered 
his  bands,  looked  at  the  jury-box,  and  began  to  play  with 
the  seals  on  his  fob.  The  court  had  resumed  its  stillness.  A  man 
in  some  sort  of  livery  passed  a  square  paper  to  the  Lord  Mayor, 
the  Lord  Mayor  passed  it  to  Lord  Stowell,  who  opened  it  with  a 
jerking  motion  of  an  ancient  fashion  that  impressed  me  immensely. 
It  was  as  if  I,  there  at  the  end  of  my  life,  were  looking  at  a  man 
opening  a  letter  of  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne.  The  shadows  of 
his  ancient,  wrinkled  face  changed  as  he  read,  raising  his  eye- 
brows and  puckering  his  mouth.  He  handed  the  unfolded  paper 
to  Mr.  Baron  Garrow,  then  with  one  wrinkled  finger  beck- 
oned the  Attorney-General  to  him.  The  third  judge  was  still 
asleep. 

"What  the  devil's  this?"  the  turnkey  beside  me  said  to  his 
companion, 

I  was  in  a  good  deal  of  pain,  and  felt  sickly  that  every  pulse  of 
my  heart  throbbed  in  my  mangled  hand.  The  other  spat  straight 
in  front  of  him. 

"  Damme  if  I  know,"  he  said.  "  This  cursed  business  ought  to 
have  been  over  and  done  with  an  hour  agone.  I  told  Jinks  to 
have  my  rarebit  and  noggin  down  by  the  gate-house  fire  at  half- 
past  five,  and  it's  six  now." 

They  began  an  interminable  argument  under  their  breaths. 

"  It's  that  wager  of  Lord  March's  .  .  .  run  a  mile,  walk  a 
mile,  eat  five  pounds  of  mutton,  drink  five  pints  of  claret.  No, 
it  aint.  .  .  .  Medmenham  coach  aint  in  yet  .  .  .  roads  too 
heavy.  ...  It  is.  What  else  would  stop  the  Court  at  this  time 
of  night?  It  isn't,  or  Justice  Best  'd  be  awake  and  hedging  his 
bets." 

In  a  dizzy  way  I  noted  the  Attorney-General  making  his  way 
carefully  back  between  the  benches  to  his  knot  of  barristers,  and 

423 


424  ROMANCE 

their  wigs  went  all  together  in  a  bunch  like  ears  of  corn  drawn  sud- 
denly into  a  sheaf.  The  heads  of  the  other  barristers  were  like  un- 
reaped  ears.  A  man  with  a  face  like  a  weasel's  called  to  a  man  with 
a  face  like  a  devil's — he  was  leaving  the  court — something  about 
an  ambassador.  The  other  stopped,  turned,  and  deposited  his  bag 
again.  I  heard  the  deep  voice  of  Sir  Robert  Gifford  say:  "  What! 
.  .  .  Never!  .  .  »  too  infamous,  .  .  ."  and  then  the  interest 
and  the  light  seemed  to  flicker  out  together.  I  could  hardly  see. 
Voices  called  out  to  each  other,  harsh,  dry,  as  if  their  owners  had 
breathed  nothing  but  dust  for  years  and  years. 

One  loud  one  barked,  "  You  can't  hear  him,  m'luds ;  in  Rex  v. 
Marsupenstein.  .  .  ." 

A  lot  began  calling  all  together,  "  Ah,  but  that  was  different, 
Mr.  Attorney.  You  couldn't  subpoena  him,  he  being  in  the 
position  of  extra  lege  commune.    But  if  he  offers  a  statement.  .  ." 

The  candles  seemed  to  be  waving  deliberately  like  elm-tops  in 
a  high  wind. 

Someone  called,  "  Clerk,  fetch  me  volume  xiii.  ...  I  think  we 
shall  find  there.  .  .  .  You  recollect  the  case  of  Hildeshein  v. 
Roe.  .  .  .  Wasn't  it  Hildegaulen  and  another,  m'lud?"  .  .  . 
"  I  tried  the  case  myself.    The  Prussian  Plenipotentiary.   .   .   ." 

I  wanted  to  call  out  to  them  that  it  was  not  worth  while  to  try 
their  dry  throats  any  more;  that  having  shot  my  bolt,  I  gave  in. 
But  I  could  not  think  of  any  words,  I  was  so  tired.  "  I  didn't 
sleep  at  all  last  night,"  I  found  myself  saying  to  myself. 

The  sleeping  judge  woke  up  suddenly  and  snarled,  "  Why  in 
Heaven's  name  don't  we  get  on  ?  We  shall  be  all  night.  Let  him 
call  the  second  name  on  the  list.  We  can  take  the  Spanish  am- 
bassador when  you  have  settled.  For  my  part  I  think  we  ought 
to  hear  him.  .  .  ." 

Lord  Stowell  said  suddenly,  "  Prisoner  at  the  bar,  some  gentle- 
men have  volunteered  statements  on  your  behalf.  If  you  wish  it, 
they  can  be  called?  " 

I  didn't  answer;  I  did  not  understand;  I  wanted  to  tell  him 
I  did  not  care,  because  the  Lion  was  posted  as  overdue  and  Sera- 
phina  was  drowned.  The  Court  seemed  to  be  moving  slowly  up 
and  down  in  front  of  me  like  the  deck  of  a  ship.  I  thought  I  was 
bound  again,  and  on  the  sofa  in  the  gorgeous  cabin  of  the  Madre- 


PART  FIFTH  425 

de-Dios.  Someone  seemed  to  be  calling,  "  Prisoner  at  the  bar 
....  Prisoner  at  the  bar.  .  .  ."  It  was  as  if  the  candles  had 
been  lit  in  front  of  the  Madonna  with  the  pink  child,  only  she 
had  a  gilt  anchor  instead  of  the  spiky  gilt'  glory  above  her  head. 
Somebody  was  saying,  "  Hello  there.  .  .  .  Holdup!  .  .  .  Here, 
bring  a  chair,  .  .  ."  and  there  were  arms  around  me.  Afterwards 
I  sat  down.  A  very  old  judge's  voice  said  something  rather  kindly, 
I  thought.  I  knew  it  was  the  very  old  judge,  because  he  was 
called  the  star  of  Cuban  law.  Someone  would  be  bending  over 
me  soon,  with"  a  lanthorn,  and  I  should  be  wiping  the  flour  out 
of  my  eyes  and  blinking  at  the  red  velvet  and  gilding  of  the  cabin 
ceiling.  In  a  minute  Carlos  and  Castro  would  come.  .  .  or  was 
it  O'Brien  who  would  come?  No,  O'Brien  was  dead;  stabbed, 
with  a  knife  in  his  neck;  the  blood  was  still  sticky  between  my 
first  and  second  fingers.  I  could  feel  it.  I  ought  to  have  been 
allowed  to  wash  my  hands  before  I  was  tried ;  or  was  it  before  I 
spoke  to  the  admiral  ?  One  would  not  speak  to  a  man  with  hands 
like  that. 

A  loud,  high-pitched  voice  called  from  up  in  the  air,  "  I  will 
give  any  of  you  gentlemen  of  the  robe  down  there  fifty  pounds  to 
conduct  the  remainder  of  the  case  for  him.  I  am  the  prisoner's 
father." 

My  father's  voice  broke  the  spell.  I  was  in  the  court;  the 
candles  were  still  burning;  all  the  faces,  lit  up  or  in  the  shadow, 
were  bunched  together  in  little  groups;  hands  waved.  The  bar- 
rister whose  face  was  like  the  devil's  under  his  wig  held  in  his 
hands  the  paper  that  had  been  handed  to  Lord  Stowell ;  my  father 
was  talking  to  him  from  the  bench.  The  barrister,  tall,  his  robes 
old  and  ragged,  silhouetted  against  the  light,  glanced  down  the 
paper,  fluttered  it  in  his  hand,  nodded  to  my  father,  and  began  a 
grotesque,  nasal  drawl: 

"  M'luds,  I  will  conduct  the  case  for  the  prisoner,  if  your 
lordships  will  bear  with  me  a  little.  He  obviously  can';  call  his 
own  witnesses.  If  he  has  been  treated  as  he  says,  it  has  been  one 
of  the  most  abominable  ..." 

Old  Lord  Stowell  said,  "  Ch't,  ch't,  Mr.  Walker;  you  know 
you  must  not  make  a  speech  for  the  prisoner.  Call  your  witness. 
It  is  all  that  is  needed." 


426  ROMANCE 

I  wondered  what  he  meant  by  that.  The  barrister  was  calling 
a  man  of  the  name  of  Williams.  I  seemed  to  know  the  name.  I 
seemed  to  know  the  man,  too. 

"  Owen  Williams,  Master  of  the  ship  Lion.  .  .  .  Coffee  and 
dye-wood.  .  .  .  Just  come  in  under  a  jury-rig.  Had  been  dis- 
masted and  afterwards  becalmed.  Heard  of  this  trial  from  the 
pilot  in  Gravesend.     Had  taken  post-chaises   .   .   ." 

I  only  heard  snatches  of  his  answers. 

"  On  the  twenty-fifth  of  August  last  I  was  close  in  with  the 
Cuban  coast.  .  .  .  The  mate,  Sebright,  got  boiling  water  for 
them.  .  .  .  Afterwards  a  heavy  fog.  They  boarded  us  in  many 
boats.  .  .  ."  He  was  giving  all  the  old  evidence  over  again, 
fastening  another  stone  around  my  neck.  But  suddenly  he  said: 
"  This  gentleman  came  alongside  in  a  leaky  dingey.  A  dead  shot. 
He  saved  all  our  lives." 

His  bullet-head,  the  stare  of  his  round  blue  eyes  seemed  to 
draw  me  out  of  a  delirium.     I  called  out: 

"Williams,  for  God's  sake,  Williams,  where  is  Seraphina? 
Did  she  come  with  you?"  There  was  an  immense  roaring  in  my 
head,  and  the  ushers  were  shouting,  "Silence!  Silence!"  I 
called  out  again. 

Williams  was  smiling  idiotically;  then  he  shook  his  head  and 
put  his  finger  to  his  mouth  to  warn  me  to  keep  silence.  I  only 
noted  the  shake  of  the  head.  Seraphina  had  not  come.  The 
Havana  people  must  have  taken  her.  It  was  all  over  with  me. 
The  roaring  noise  made  me  think  that  I  was  on  a  beach  by  the 
sea,  with  the  smugglers,  perhaps,  at  night  down  in  Kent.  The 
silence  that  fell  upon  the  court  was  like  the  silence  of  a  grave. 
Then  someone  began  to  speak  in  measured,  portentous  Spanish, 
that  seemed  a  memory  of  the  past. 

"  I,  the  ambassador  of  his  Catholic  Majesty,  being  here  upon 
my  honor  and  on  my  oath,  demand  the  re-surrender  of  this  gen- 
tleman, whose  courage  equals  his  innocence.  Documents  which 
have  just  reached  my  hands  establish  clearly  the  mistake  of  which 
he  is  the  victim.  The  functionary  who  is  called  Alcayde  of  the 
carcel  at  Havana  confused  the  men.  Nikola  el  Escoces  escaped, 
having  murdered  the  judge  whose  place  it  was  to  identify.  1 
demand  that  the  prisoner  be  set  at  liberty  .  .  ." 


PART  FIFTH  427 

A  long  time  after  a  harsh  voice  said : 

"  Your  Excellency,  we  retire,  of  course,  from  the  prosecution." 

A  different  one  directed: 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  you  will  return  a  verdict  of  *  Not 
Guilty'  .  .  ." 

Down  below  they  were  cheering  uproariously  because  my  life 
was  saved.  But  it  was  I  that  had  to  face  my  saved  life.  I  sat 
there,  my  head  bowed  into  my  hands.  The  old  judge  was 
speaking  to  me  in  a  tone  of  lofty  compassion. 

"  You  have  suffered  much,  as  it  seems,  but  suffering  is  the  lot 
of  us  men.  Rejoice  now  that  your  character  is  cleared;  that  here 
in  this  public  place  you  have  received  the  verdict  of  your  country- 
men that  restores  you  to  the  liberties  of  our  country  and  the 
affection  of  your  kindred.  I  rejoice  with  you  who  am  a  very  old 
man,  at  the  end  of  my  life.  .  ,  ." 

It  was  rather  tremendous,  his  deep  voice,  his  weighted  words. 
Suffering  is  the  lot  of  us  men!  .  .  .  The  formidable  legal  array, 
the  great  powers  of  a  nation,  had  stood  up  to  teach  me  that,  and 
they  had  taught  me  that — suffering  is  the  lot  of  us  men! 

It  takes  long  enough  to  realize  that  someone  is  dead  at  a 
distance.  I  had  done  that.  But  how  long,  how  long  it  needs  to 
know  that  the  life  of  your  heart  has  come  back  from  the  dead. 
For  years  afterwards  I  could  not  bear  to  have  her  out  of  my  sight. 

Of  our  first  meeting  in  London  all  I  remember  is  a  speech- 
lessness that  was  like  the  awed  hesitation  of  our  overtried  souls 
before  the  greatness  of  a  change  from  the  verge  of  despair  to  the 
opening  of  a  supreme  joy.  The  whole  world,  the  whole  of  life, 
with  her  return,  had  changed  all  around  me;  it  enveloped  me,  it 
enfolded  me  so  lightly  as  not  to  be  felt,  so  suddenly  as  not  to  be 
believed  in,  so  completely  that  that  whole  meeting  was  an  embrace, 
so  softly  that  at  last  it  lapsed  into  a  sense  of  rest  that  was  like  the 
fall  of  a  beneficent  and  welcome  death. 

For  suffering  is  the  lot  of  man,  but  not  inevitable  failure  or 
worthless  despair  which  is  without  end — suffering,  the  mark  of 
manhood,  which  bears  within  its  pain  a  hope  of  felicity  like  a 
jewel  set  in  iron.  .  .  . 

Her  first  words  were: 


428  ROMANCE 

"  You  broke  our  compact.  You  went  away  from  me  whilst  I 
was  sleeping."  Only  the  deepness  of  her  reproach  revealed  the 
depth  of  her  love,  and  the  suffering  she  too  had  endured  to  reach 
a  union  that  was  to  be  without  end — and  to  forgive. 

And,  looking  back,  we  see  Romance — that  subtle  thing  that  is 
mirage — that  is  life.  It  is  the  goodness  of  the  years  we  have  lived 
through,  of  the  old  time  when  we  did  this  or  that,  when  we  dwelt 
here  or  there.  Looking  back,  it  seems  a  wonderful  enough  thing 
that  I  who  am  this,  and  she  who  is  that,  commencing  so  far  away 
a  life  that,  after  such  sufferings  borne  together  and  apart,  ended 
so  tranquilly  there  in  a  world  so  stable — that  she  and  I  should 
have  passed  through  so  much,  good  chance  and  evil  chance,  sad 
hours  and  joyful,  all  lived  down  and  swept  away  into  the  little 
heap  of  dust  that  is  life.    That,  too,  is  Romance! 


THE    END 


I 


Author  of  "  Lord  Jim,"  "  Youth,"  etc. 

FALK 


is-LL  that  magic  of  word-painting  which  has 
made  Conrad's  stories  of  the  sea  the  wonder  of 
the  literary  world  is  here  turned  to  the  showing 
forth  of  the  hearts  of  men  and  women.  "  Falk/' 
the  first  story,  is  the  I'omance  of  a  port-tyrant  in 
the  far  East,  who,  in  his  love  for  a  young  girl, 
confesses  that  he  has  once  been  driven  to  canni- 
balism. A  more  extraordinary  study  of  human 
passions  has  never  been  put  into  print.  "  Amy 
Foster  "  tells  of  a  strange  and  beautiful  foreigner 
who,  lost  by  shipwreck  on  an  English  country- 
side, marries  a  girl  there  ;  and  of  his  tragic  efforts 
to  make  himself  a  real  member  of  the  brutally 
clannish  little  community.  "To-morrow  "  is  the 
simple,  pathetic,  and  touching  story  of  an  old  man 
who  waits  for  his  runaway  son  to  return  to  him, 
and  is  supported  in  his  hopeless  expectation  by  a 
brave  and  loving  girl-neighbor. 

$1.50 


!^cCliire,  l^l)illip0  Si  Co. 


Bp  ^osepi)  Convat) 


T, 


Author  of  "  Lord  Jim '" 

YOUTH 

r 


HIS  book  is  the  success  of  the  season  in 
London.  Mr.  Conrad  has  at  last  made  the  hit 
that  all  who  have  watched  his  earlier  work  have 
expected.  Mr.  Alden,  in  writing  to  the  New  York 
Times  Saturday  lleview  himself,  says^  speaking  of 
"  Youth,"  the  first  of  the  three  short  novels  of 
which  make  the  volume.  "  That  one  story  is  suf- 
ficient to  place  him  with  the  foremost  writers  of 
fiction  in  any  language,"  and  reports  further  that 
he  has  "  not  yet  heard  one  dissenting  voice  in  re- 
gard to  the  book,  but  the  praise  that  it  has  received 
is  unanimous,  and  the  different  critics  rival  one 
another  in  their  efforts  to  express  their  admiration 
for  it."  The  book's  own  merit,  as  a  set  of  stirring 
narratives  given  with  the  most  telling  art,  will 
speedily  justify  this  praise  to  any  reader. 
The  titles  of  the  other  two  tales  are  "  Heart  of 
Darkness"  and  "  The  End  of  the  Tether."  The 
subject  of  "Youth  "  is  the  sea  and  a  shipwreck. 
The  second  story  tells  of  an  exploration  by  land 
with  a  side  probing  in  the  inner  recesses  of  spirit- 
ual darkness  ;  while  the  third,  returning  to  the 
sea,  is  the  portrayal  of  a  noble  old  captain,  who  is 
one  of  the  finest  characterizations  of  modern  fiction. 

Cloth,  12mo  $1.50 


r 


iSp  a*  Conan  ©ople 


Author  of  "  The  Adventures  of  Sherlock  Holmes ' 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF 
GERARD 


J3 TORIES  of  the  remarkable  adventures  of  a 
Brigadier  in  Napoleon's  ai'my.  In  Etienne  Ge- 
rard, Conan  Doyle  has  added  to  his  already  famous 
gallery  of  characters  one  worthy  to  stand  beside 
the  notable  Sherlock  Holmes.  Many  and  thrill- 
ing are  Gerard's  adventures,  as  related  by  himself, 
for  he  takes  part  in  nearly  every  one  of  Napoleon's 
campaigns.  In  Venice  he  has  an  interesting 
romantic  escapade  which  causes  him  the  loss  of 
an  ear.  With  the  utmost  bravery  and  cunning 
he  captures  the  Spanish  city  of  Saragossa ;  in 
Portugal  he  saves  the  army ;  in  Russia  he  feeds 
the  starving  soldiers  by  supplies  obtained  at 
Minsk,  after  a  wonderful  ride.  Everwhere  else 
he  is  just  as  marvelous,  and  at  Waterloo  he  is  the 
center  of  the  whole  battle. 

For  all  his  lumbering  vanity  he  is  a  genial  old 
soul  and  a  remarkably  vivid  story-teller. 

Illustrated  by  W.  B.  Wollen. 

*  $1.50 


jHcClure-,  l^l^tUipjs  S,  Co* 


Author  of  "A  Gentleman  of  France  " 

THE  LONG  NIGHT 

r 

fjENEVA  in  the  early  days  of  the  1 7th  century; 
a  ruffling  young  theologue  new  to  the  city ;  a 
beautiful  and  innocent  girl,  suspected  of  witch- 
craft ;  a  crafty  scholar  and  metaphysician  seeking 
to  give  over  the  city  into  the  hands  of  the  Savoy- 
ards ;  a  stern  and  powerful  syndic  whom  the 
scholar  beguiles  to  betray  his  office  by  promises 
of  an  elixir  which  shall  save  him  from  his  fatal 
illness  ;  a  brutal  soldier  of  fortune  ;  these  are  the 
elements  of  which  Weyman  has  composed  the 
most  brilliant  and  thrilling  of  his  romances. 
Claude  Mercier,  the  student,  seeing  the  plot  in 
which  the  girl  he  loves  is  involved,  yet  helpless 
to  divulge  it,  finds  at  last  his  opportunity  when 
the  treacherous  men  of  Savoy  are  admitted  within 
Geneva's  walls,  and  in  a  night  of  whirlwind  fight- 
ing saves  the  city  by  his  courage  and  address. 
For  fire  and  spirit  there  are  few  chapters  in 
modern  literature  such  as  those  which  picture  the 
splendid  defence  of  Geneva,  by  the  staid,  churchly, 
heroic  burghers,  fighting  in  their  own  blood  under 
the  divided  leadership  of  the  fat  Syndic,  Baudi- 
chon,  and  the  bandy-legged  sailor,  Jehan  Brosse, 
winning  the  battle  against  the  anned  and  armored 
forces  of  the  invaders.  , 

Illustrated  by  Solomon  J.  Solomon. 
$1.50 


Author  of  *'  The  Sowers,"  etc. 

BARLASCH  OF  THE  GUARD 


A  HE  story  is  set  in  those  desperate  days  when 
the  ebbing  tide  of  Napoleon's  fortunes  swept 
Europe  with  desolation.  Barlasch —  "  Papa 
Barlasch  of  the  Guard,  Italy,  Egypt,  the  Dan- 
ube " — a  veteran  in  the  Little  Corporal's  service 
— is  the  dominant  figure  of  the  story.  Quar- 
tered on  a  distinguished  family  in  the  historic 
town  of  Dantzig,  he  gives  his  life  to  the  romance 
of  Desiree,  the  daughter  of  the  family,  and  Louis 
d'  Arragon,  whose  cousin  she  has  married  and 
parted  with  at  the  church  door.  Louis's  search 
with  Barlasch  for  the  missing  Charles  gives  an 
unforgettable  picture  of  the  terrible  retreat  from 
Russia ;  and  as  a  companion  picture  there  is  the 
hei'oic  defence  of  Dantzig  by  Rapp  and  his  little 
army  of  sick  and  starving.  At  the  last  Bar- 
lasch, learning  of  the  death  of  Charles,  plans 
and  executes  the  escape  of  Desiree  from  the 
beleaguered  town  to  join  Louis. 
Illustrated  by  the  Kinneys. 

S1.50 


Pit€lmt,  p])illip^  S,  Co* 


THE  BLAZED  TRAIL 


ItJ-R.  white  has  intermingled  the  romance 
of  the  forests  with  the  romance  of  a  man's 
heart,  making  a  story  that  is  big  and  elemental, 
while  not  lacking  in  sweetness  and  tenderness. 
It  is  an  epic  of  the  life  of  the  lumbermen  in  the 
great  forests  of  the  Northwest,  permeated  in 
every  line  by  out-of-door  freshness  and  the 
glory  of  the  labor  of  the  struggle  with  nature. 
It  will  appeal  to  everyone  who  cares  for  trees, 
the  forests  or  the  open  air. 

"  Mr.  White  has  the  power  to  make  you  feel  the  woods 
as  the  masters  of  salt-water  fiction  make  you  feel  the 
sea." — The  Boston  Herald. 

"  Of  the  majesty  of  the  falling  forests  the  book  is  elo- 
quent, and  its  place  in  the  history  of  our  literature  is 
secure." — The  ChiQago  News. 

"  He  has  realized  to  the  fuU  the  titanic  character  of  the 
struggle  between  man  and  nature  in  the  forest,  and  has 
reproduced  it  in  his  pages  with  an  enthusiasm  and 
strength  of  insight  worthy  of  his  theme." 

— The  St.  James  Gazette. 

Eleven  Editions  in  eleven  months  $1.50 


fllpcClure^  l^l^iUip^  S,  €o. 


33^  %.  €.  loung 


SALLY  OF  MISSOURI 


A  STORY  of  Missouri  life,  presenting  in  a 
vivid,  warm,  realistic  manner  a  primitive 
world,  quite  new  to  fiction  readers.  The  novel 
is  rich  in  poetry  and  romance.  The  strange 
tramp-boy,  the  dominant,  tricky  rich  man  of 
the  town,  the  engaging  Sally  (who  has  the 
distinction  of  being  a  human  being,  as  well 
as  a  heroine),  the  never-to-be-forgotten  back- 
woods children — all  these  and  others  live  in 
this  love-story,  and  make  it  of  unusual  origin- 
ality and  interest. 


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36?  (ielett  35urgess  ant)  Will 
frtoin 

Authors  of  "The  Picaroons" 

THE  REIGN  OF  QUEEN  ISYL 


XN  "The  Reign  of  Queen  Isyl "  the  authors 
have  hit  upon  a  new  scheme  in  fiction.  The  book 
is  both  a  novel  and  a  collection  of  short  stories. 
The  main  story  deals  with  a  carnival  of  flowers 
in  a  California  city.  Just  before  the  coronation 
the  Queen  of  the  Fiesta  disappears^  and  her 
Maid  of  Honor  is  crowned  in  her  stead — Queen 
Isyl.  There  are  plots  and  countei-plots — half- 
mockery,  half-earnest — beneath  which  the  reader 
is  tantalized  by  glimpses  of  the  genuine  mystery 
surrounding  the  real  queen's  disappearance. 

Thus  far  the  story  differs  from  other  novels 
only  in  the  quaintly  romantic  atmosphere  of  mod- 
ern chivalry.  Its  distinctive  feature  lies  in  the 
fact  that  in  evpiy  chapter  one  of  the  characters 
relates  an  anecdote.  Each  anecdote  is  a  short 
story  of  the  liveliest  and  most  amusing  kind — 
complete  in  itself — yet  each  bears  a  vital  relation 
to  the  main  romance  and  its  characters.  The 
short  stories  are  as  unusual  and  striking  as  the 
novel  of  which  they  form  a  part. 

$1.50 


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